


Like It or Not

by crystalxcobweb



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Eating Disorder, Found Family, Group Therapy, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Literally all of them have an Eating Disorder, More tags to be added, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-06-25 07:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15635931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalxcobweb/pseuds/crystalxcobweb
Summary: Logan Crofter, Virgil McCloud, Patton Hart, and Roman Prince are struggling in their recovery. Dr. Thomas Sanders and Dr. Emile Picani think they can help each other out. After all, the road to recovery isn't easy, and it's always better to have someone in the car with you.Or, the group therapy au no one asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: Mentions of eating disorder and medication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of eating disorders and medication

“Have you been taking your meds as prescribed?” Dr. Thomas Sanders asked. 

“Yep!” Patton Hart said, eagerly.

Dr. Sanders frowned, leaning back. He looked into Patton’s eyes. The patient just responded by smiling brighter. 

“As prescribed, Patton. That means with food. Every time.”

“Yeah, I’ve been doing really well! The meds are really working!”

It would have been easy to believe him. His colleagues believed him. Hell, he wanted to believe him, desperately wanted his patients to be okay. But it didn’t matter how convincing Patton was (though, he was very convincing,) Thomas couldn’t believe him. 

“The reason I hesitate-”

“Is because of last month?” Patton said, his smile falling.

Last month, when, after being the model patient, he had collapsed in the waiting room. 

“Yes.”

“I was just a little dehydrated, doc,” Patton assured him, “Plus I guess I watched one too many Parks and Rec episodes!”

His doctor hummed in response. Nope, not buying it. 

“Since you say the meds are working, I see no reason to change them up,” inwardly, Patton breathed a sigh of relief, “But I do have another treatment idea for you.”

“Well, you know me, doc, always willing to try anything once!”

“I want to try group therapy.”

Silence fell.

“What, uh, what will the group be about?”

“Group therapy centers around whatever the patients want to talk about and are willing to share,” he paused, “This one is specifically targeted to young males with eating disorders.”

Eating disorder, the term still bounced around in Patton’s head. He had known several people who would deny they had one when they were caught. But once you shove your fingers down your throat, how normal can you really be?

“That’s pretty specific.”

“Yes, well, the facility requires we have three participating patients to create a recognized group, but, between myself and a colleague of mine, we believe there will be enough interest. You are the first I’m approaching, so I’m simply measuring interest at the moment.”

Patton hummed, pretending to think it over. Then he perked up and made himself nod. “Sure thing! I’m always up to make new friends!”

Patton always agreed to whatever the doctors told him to do. Sometimes he wanted to get better, sometimes he just wanted to go back to his former life, before his mom found out. He knew he would show up to the group, if he had to. The problem, of course, was that in an eating disorder support group, the participants would most likely actually be thin, which Patton was...not. But he was just measuring interest. It might not even happen. 

^

“Group therapy?”

“Yes.”

Logan Crofter paused. “Why?”

“Because I think it will be beneficial,” Dr. Sanders responded simply.

“How? What is this group even for? I thought group therapy was more for addiction,” though to be fair, Logan wasn’t as knowledgeable about psychology as he was about most things. Psychology centered around a lot of feelings, dove into the complications of humanity, and the grey areas of recovery. Logan much preferred the strict black and white of science and math. 

“This group would be for males with eating disorders.”

Logan could already feel his anger rising, but he crushed it before it could hit the surface. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. There was that term again.

“I don’t-”

“Logan, we’ve been over this,” Dr. Sanders explained, patiently. And they had. Dr. Sanders had pulled out several pamphlets from several sources, comparing their criteria, then they went through and highlighted everything Logan did. It was...upsetting. Then he had pointed out what it was doing to his body, how it could affect his mind, appealing to his logical side. Logan had nodded, completely determined that he had made a breakthrough, and that now that he knew, he’d be able to yank himself out of whatever...this was. And then he went home. And then he couldn’t do it. 

“Okay, okay. So I have an eating disorder. And we would just...discuss this? Because that sounds extremely unpleasant.”

“It’s more about the feelings surrounding-”

“That sounds even more unpleasant.”

“Sometimes recovery doesn’t feel all that pleasant. But it’s necessary in order to heal.” And, God, would Logan do anything to actually heal. 

Dr. Sanders pulled out a few articles from his drawer, laying them across his desk. They pointed out why group therapy was beneficial, how many people it had helped, all of it undeniable, scientific proof. 

At the end of his explanation, Dr. Sanders looked up, surprised to see Logan with his fists clenched and a few tears in his eyes. He looked up. 

“Do you think this will help me?” he asked.

Dr. Sanders let the question hang for a second before saying, earnestly, “I do.”

“Fine.”

^

It didn’t start with Thomas.

“You want to start a support group for males with eating disorders?”

“Yes,” Emile Picani said, smile bright.

“Do you know how rare that is?”

“Rare? Eating disorders in males have been rising. Besides, I have several clients myself who I think would benefit from the program, so I’m sure others do as well.”

Two of the supervisors exchanged a look while the third pressed his fingers to his forehead, all clearly thinking the same thing. Why did we agree to hire this guy again? 

But they knew. They had seen his track record. 

For about a year, Foster’s Center for Mental and Behavioral Health had been falling. The reviews were tanking, the patients seemed stagnant, and above all, the therapists were starting to burn out. They had gotten several complaints from parents claiming they felt their children weren’t being taken seriously. Feeling pressured, the center did a complete overhaul, firing several of their long term employees and hiring new ones, including some who were fresh out of college. The veteran staff were...not pleased. They seemed to want to fight at every opportunity for no reason besides they didn’t want to change, and what did these people know about their center anyway?

Emile Picani was used to fighting, though. These supervisors weren’t the only ones to raise their eyebrows at his office decorations or frown when he asked about the dress code, specifically in regards to pink hair. But he had several framed degrees and a long list of happy patients, which he was quick to point out when someone got too hung up on shallow things like appearances. 

The supervisors looked at the counselors around them. “Well? Do you?”

Some rolled their eyes, some shook their heads, some looked at the ceiling, seeming to mentally scan through their list of patients to see if any would fit. 

“I do,” Thomas spoke up. 

Emile shot him a smile. While they hadn’t known each other long, Thomas though Emile was the closest thing to a “friend” he had made at work. To be fair, he hadn’t been there long, but still. When Thomas had met Emile on his first day, they had a conversation about Steven Universe, which got very intense very quickly. After Thomas’s first week, he walked into his office to find a little Funko Pop figure of Steven on his desk. He set it on his bookshelf, on top of his DSM-V. 

“See?” Emile continued, “We only need three participants to be considered an officially recognized as a group. I’m sure we can do it!”

The supervisor snorted in spite himself. “You know what, Picani? You get three boys to show up and talk about their eating disorders, we’ll let you start the group.”

^

“That’s a thing you can do?” Roman Prince asks.

“Well, it’s a thing I’m gonna try to do,” Dr. Picani tells him, “And besides, a colleague of mine already has some candidates he’s speaking to.”

“There are other guys here with eating disorders?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Dr. Picani pauses from writing in his notebook, “As we’ve talked about before, Roman, this is not as uncommon as you think. And I think going to a group session would help you realize that.” He smiled, completely concealing the fact that he was tired of answering this question and defending this idea. Hey, he told himself, At least it’s coming from a hesitant patient and not a professional. 

“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” Roman says.

“Okay, let me ask you this,” Emile says, switching his approach, “Have you told any of you friends about your struggles with eating?”

“Well, I-” Roman cuts himself off, “No.”

“Your mom or your dad?”

“Um, well, no-”

“Your brothers?”

A look of sheer terror crosses Roman’s face. 

“One of the benefits of group therapy is being able to be open, and knowing that others understand what you’re going through. It creates a sort of support system.”

“I’m not sure if I need a support system.”

“Oh, that’s just a load of barnacles,” Dr. Picani tells him, “After all, everyone needs a bit of support. Remember what Uncle Iroh said?”

“Uncle Iroh is a very quotable man, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“While it is always best to believe in one’s self, a little help from others can be a great blessing,” his therapist quotes for him.

Roman hums in response. This isn’t the first time Picani has brought up something like this. 

“Couldn’t, just, like, my friends become my support system?”

“Well, sure, if you feel you can trust them enough to confide in them. Do you think that’s something that’s doable?”

Roman thinks about it. Thinks about catching up to one of his friends from theater rehearsal, or whispering something to the person who sits next to him, or texting one of his old teammates...but it doesn’t matter. It all ends the same, with them laughing in his face.

“Roman,” Dr Picani breaks through his thoughts, quietly, “Do you have anyone you can talk to right now?”

And, really, there’s only one. The teacher who had sent him to the school counselor, who told his parents he needed outside resources. His parents still didn’t even really know why. His teacher had kept an eye on him, checking up on him, _but you really should stop bothering her with your problems._

“Okay,” he whispers.

^

It is loud in Virgil McCloud’s head. 

Sometimes, if he turns his music up loud enough, he can drown it out. But the only time it actually quiets down is in Dr. Picani’s office. Filled with stuffed animals and colorful posters, away from the past, away from his aunt’s questions, he feels like he can actually breathe in the therapist’s office. His world was full of sharpness, pointed edges and harsh corners, but everything in the office was soft, including the therapist his friend had recommended him. And that’s enough for him, it’s more than he thought he would ever get. 

Emile proceeds delicately. He doesn’t know as much as he would like to, but it’s enough. He knows that Virgil won’t talk about his parents and that he suddenly moved in with his aunt recently. He even met her. She came in during one of his sessions, which Virgil did not seem to be happy about. 

“Doctor, he won’t talk to me, he doesn’t talk to his friends, and I know his life at his previous home couldn’t have been pleasant.”

“Is that true, Virgil?”

For his part, Virgil hadn’t spoken during that particular session, and he wasn’t breaking it now. He shrugged, glaring at the wall away from his aunt. 

“You see, me and my brother-Virgil’s father-we didn’t have the greatest home life, and I don’t think my brother really healed or moved on from that. In fact, I think-”

Virgil turned and glared at her, a look so cold it actually made her stop in her tracks.

“We can explore that in later sessions,” Emile said, trying to smooth it over, “But for now, maybe we should just think about what you want from these sessions.”

“The quiet,” Virgil said, not missing a beat. Well, if it got him here, it would work. 

“I think you should aim a little higher,” his aunt had said. 

“Of course you do. You seem to have an opinion on every aspect of my life.”

“Virgil, I am worried-”

“Well, can you stop? Because no one has worried about me for sixteen years and I’ve been fine. You haven’t been worried about me for sixteen years and I’ve been fine,” she paled in response, “I can take care of myself.”

“Then why won’t you eat?”

Virgil hissed at her, before pulling his hood up and moving down to the other end of the couch. 

That’s how Picani had found out. He could make some other guesses, though it would be unprofessional to jump to conclusions. But he couldn’t help but note that Virgil almost always wore a hoodie and long jeans, which would have been fine if it wasn’t the middle of the summer. 

After that session, Emile decided it’d be better to focus on individual therapy for now. If it was really necessary, they could start family therapy later. But before that…

“No.”

“And why do you say that, Virgil? Do you think it wouldn’t be helpful?”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Virgil’s hands go to his hood, but he stops himself. Every time he does that, Dr. Picani starts scribbling in his notebook even more than he usually does. 

“Would it help you to know that group therapy holds several benefits, including offering a catharsis and hope for it’s participants? It also helps create a support system. In fact many report feeling a connection to their group similar to that of a family.”

Virgil does not flinch. Nope, definitely not. 

“No, it doesn’t help. I’m not interested,” he should let it end there.

“Virgil,” his name sounds really gentle coming from the doctor. He wanted to hate his therapist, he hated all the others, but there was something so nice about him, about the atmosphere around him that makes Virgil listen, “I don’t want to pressure you or push you into something that you really don’t think would benefit you, but I would really like you to consider this. When your aunt was here, she mentioned you haven’t been connecting with your friends as much, and you’re going to a new school soon-”

Virgil snorts at that. He can’t help it.

“So you think I can find a bestie in group therapy?”

“I think you can find a support system in group therapy. And maybe that would help with your loneliness.”

The office gets quiet and Virgil aches for his hood.

“I’m not lonely,” he doesn’t even believe himself. 

“Well, if you change your mind, we’re starting in two weeks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, let me just say up front that I take mental health very seriously, having been through the system myself and also studying Psychology. There will always be clear warnings in the beginning of chapters, and the tags will updated as I go, and if there's ever something that isn't labelled properly, don't hesitate to let me know!
> 
> Besides that, feedback is always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four meet for the first time, and Logan is sure this isn't going to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: mentions of eating disorders and self-deprecating thoughts

“I’m here for group therapy!” Patton chirps. His hands are shoved into his pockets, so no one can tell how badly they’re shaking.

The secretary says, “Of course, sweetie,” then pauses, “You’re about fifteen minutes early, though.”

“I just wanted to be the first one here!” _So they don’t all turn and look at me when I go in._ “So I can be the first to say hi to everyone!” 

The woman smiles. “Well, the room isn’t being used, so you can go ahead and head back, sweetheart. It’s room number 203.”

“Thanks!” he says, turning down the hallway and throwing a wave over his shoulder.

There’s no one else there, just as he hoped. There’s a desk with a half circle of chairs around it. and he chooses a random one to sit in. Only then, alone in the room, does he allow his smile to slip off his face as he slumps down in his chair. 

Why? _Why?_ Why couldn’t he have said no, this one time? 

_Because you’re weak. Do you really think they’ll want to be friends with you?_

“Nope,” he says, out loud, “No, we’re not doing this, not now.”

Dr. Sanders had told him the previous week that they did, indeed, have enough interest to start the group. He had mentioned there would only be four, but it was enough. Patton actually relaxed at that. Less intimidation. And even though he had lied about his enthusiasm, he meant it when he said that he was always up to make new friends.

_Any friends, any friends at all, please-_

He looked up as he heard footsteps coming down the hallway and sat up a little straighter because slouching made rolls-

“Hey!” he greeted, smiling at the other patient who just walked in. 

The guy turned to him, and he perked up even more, “Hey! We have the same glasses!”

“It would appear that way, yes,” the guy said, adjusting the frames in question, “Hello, my name is Logan.”

“Patton!” he narrows his eyes slightly, “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“It’s possible we go to school together, assuming we live close to this facility,” Logan says, stiffly, “I’ve been told I tend to blend in, so I doubt you would have noticed me, though.”

“Aw, I’m sure that’s not true!”

Logan shrugs, “It’s not an attack on my character, simply an observation. I don’t participate in any clubs or sports, have very few friends. School is, after all, a place of learning and I intend to use it for that purpose,” he paused, “Though I guess I do help out the librarian from time to time during lunch-”

“That’s it!” Patton cries, suddenly, “Mrs. Barber! I eat lunch in the library sometimes,” he frowns, “Wait, don’t you always wear a tie?”

He glances down at his black polo, “I, uh, I thought I might appear more approachable without it.” Even though he feels a like a little piece of him is missing.

“I’m sure no one will care,” he says as Logan takes a seat across from him. He hums noncommittally in response.

It’s only then that Patton allows himself to observe him closer, taking in smaller details that others probably don’t notice. Like the fact Logan’s watch hangs off his wrist, just a little bit, or the fact that his polo isn’t quite tight enough. Staring at him, Patton becomes even more aware of the way his thighs squish together in the chair. 

Before he can go down that road any farther, he hears “Da dadada da…”

It takes him a second to place it as the tune goes on, then he remembers. _Spongebob Squarepants._

“Tch!” a hand appears in the doorway. 

Logan looks at him, completely lost. Patton shrugs. He’s had a few other therapists, before Thomas, but he’s pretty sure he’s never had this one. That’s confirmed a little later, when at a very dramatic part of the song he leans his head in, hair flopping to one side.

_Wait,_ Logan thinks, _Is his hair pink?_

Song completed, he walks in, nonchalantly, and sits in the chair behind the desk, which is in between Patton and Logan. 

“New patients, do you how do?”

_“...what.”_

“My name is Dr. Picani,” the therapist starts, not deterred, “We’re still waiting on two others, but I asked you two to come in a little earlier, since we haven’t formally met.”

“Hold on, I thought Dr. Sanders was leading these sessions,” Logan said.

“Ehhhh, we’ve been discussing who’d be the best fit, considering you two are patients of Thomas and the other two are mine. So, since this group was my idea, I figured we’d try this first, but Thomas will be here next week. You guys just let us know which makes you feel more comfortable. Speaking of comfort,” he pulls the chair from behind the desk to the front of it, so the chairs are a complete circle. He then pulls out a small figure and places on his desk. 

“Hey, it’s Garnet!” 

“Yeah!” Dr. Picani cries, “And Amethyst,” he pulls out another, “And Pearl!” and a third.

Logan is confused. Those are not gemstones, they are pastel women.

“I thought, since they’re such good friends, they’d inspire you guys a bit, plus this office is just so dull!”

“But I thought there were four of us?” Logan says.

“There are!”

“There are four of them, too,” Patton giggles.

Logan furrows his eyebrows, and looks at the desk again. He can definitely count to _three_. He is going to have to talk to Dr. Sanders about this. 

“I’m heeeeere!” a voice sings, and a third guy steps into the office, his arms up in a ridiculous pose, “Roman Prince, at your service!”

“Hi Roman!” Dr. Picani says, “Have a seat.” He does, right next to Patton, “We can do the rest of the introductions when our fourth gets here.”

The fourth is exactly two minutes late, which Logan knows because he’s checked his watch every 30 seconds since the meeting was supposed to start. He’s about to say something when a hooded figure slinks into the meeting. 

“Well, it’s about time!” Roman says, and his voice booms, “What took you so long?”

The fourth guy doesn’t say anything, instead sitting next to Logan and stretching his legs out in front of him. He tips his head back and closes his eyes.  
“Hey, Sunshine, I’m talking to you!”

“Now, now,” Patton says, and Logan is shocked by how much he sounds like a dad, “Sometimes things happen. Right, kiddo?” It’s directed at the fourth member, but he doesn’t move.

“Awesome!” Dr. Picani says, pulling out his notebook, “Now that everyone’s here, we can begin. But, Virgil?” his voice gets a little louder at the end. The fourth-Virgil-opens one of his eyes and turns to him, “It might help if you take your headphones out.”

Virgil lets out a long sigh, but reaches up and pop two small earbuds out. He wraps them around his iPod before shoving it back into his pocket.

“Thank you! Now, you all know what you’re here for,” the four exchange weary looks, “For recovery and for support. This is a very safe, welcoming space. Now, what’s your favorite cartoon?”

There’s silence. 

“What?” Logan asks. 

“It’s the first session, guys! You have to be at least a little comfortable with each other before we can expect you to open up to each other.”

Logan presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Oh, yes, he _definitely_ needed to talk to Dr. Sanders about this. This is not going to work.

“I do not _watch_ cartoons-”

“I like Spongebob!” Patton says, “But, like, classic, good Spongebob. The newer ones have gone a liiiittle downhill.”

“Steven Universe,” Roman replies, “It truly has the most epic of battles. Though Ducktales has some very fascinating adventures. Oh! And Avatar: The Last Airbender!”

They turn to Virgil. He shrugs.

“I don’t watch cartoons, either.”

Logan watches Dr. Picani take some notes, and wonders what exactly could be so telling about cartoons. 

Meanwhile, with his notepad safely angled away from his patients, he wrote _“Virgil is a liar liar pants on fire because he said he doesn’t watch cartoons even though last week he had some very interesting things to say about Lapis Lazuli, his favorite character.”_

“Neat! What about music?” He says, leaning forward.

“Well, I listen to the Steven Universe soundtrack, some musicals-ooh! Especially the Spongebob Musical-and the Campfire Song song on repeat.”

“Campfire song song?” Logan asks.

“Do you not listen to music either, specs?” Roman asks him.

Logan tries not to glare. _We are approachable and we are making friends,_ he reminds himself.

“No, I do not,” his voice is still clipped, “If I need to listen to something for some reason, it’s usually a podcast.”

“Evanescence,” Virgil says and Roman scoffs, “What?”

“Could you _be_ more stereotypical?”

“Sure,” he says before Dr. Picani can step in, “I could’ve said My Chemical Romance.”

“They’re your second favorite, I’m sure.”

“Third, actually. Under Fall Out Boy,” Roman scoffs again and Virgil glares, “What do you listen to then? High School Musical?”

Roman opens his mouth, but Patton cuts him off, “Hey! That’s where I know you from! You played Troy Bolton last year!”

Virgil smirks, and Roman rushes to say, “Or-or- _or_ , you could know me from football our Freshmen year.”

“Wasn’t that our worst season?” Logan asks, “Also, you were definitely Troy. You were also the Prince in Cinderella.”

“So, Roman enjoys Theater,” Dr. Picani says, cutting off any arguing, “What do you guys do for fun?”

“Oh! I’m on the yearbook committee!” Patton says.

“Puzzles, and other activities that don’t involve other people, such as reading.”

“I’m learning guitar.”

“Hey! I can play ukulele!” Patton says.

“Oooh,” Virgil says, sarcastically, “We can be jam buds.”

His eyes grow wide just as Roman’s and Patton’s light up in recognition

“Hey, was that a reference-?”

“Next question, Emile,” Virgil cuts Patton off.

Dr. Picani finishes writing _BUSTED!_ before saying, “Favorite characters? I need some ideas for figurines to bring in next time.”

Logan ponders a moment, then says “I suppose Baymax would be satisfactory.”

“Yeah!” Dr. Picani cheers, writing it down.

“Any prince of any disney movie, but especially Flynn Rider,” Roman says. 

“Uh-ooh-uh, how about Tigger? Or Winnie the Pooh?”

“Stitch,” Virgil says, and the other three turn to him, “What? I can’t be a fan of Disney, too?”

“It just appears like you would reject everything pure and sweet in the world,” Roman says.

“ _Pure and sweet?_ Are we watching the same movies? Because they can get dark,” Virgil says.

“Wha-? Dr. Picani, are you hearing this, he is disgracing Disney!”

“Yeah, I wanna see where this is going,” his therapist says, leaning forward.

“Besides the obvious, like the metaphors for racism in Zootopia, or the abuse in-”

“I know, I know, everyone says Beauty and The Beast is about Stockholm Syndrome, but it’s really about a love that transcends outward appearance. Even the most beastly, hairy-” he stops when he notices Patton’s apprehensive stare and Logan’s side eye, “Okay, not the best example, but-”

“ _Actually_ , I was going to say the parental abuse in Tangled, but very good point. Even movies that aren’t supposed to have those themes do”

“Mmm, not really the best example, Stockholm Syndrome doesn’t exist, at least not in the way the media portrays it,” Dr. Picani points out, “Also, even if it was, Belle doesn’t present any of the symptoms.”

“Fine,” Virgil says, “We can still point out the lack of consent in older stories. The implication that you can get what you want by lying and deceiving people in Aladdin.”

“Oh, come on, he came clean in the end!”

“Yeah, after lying and _deceiving_ -”

Were….were they really doing this? During therapy? Logan looked at Patton, who looked just as confused. Dr. Picani just looked entertained, though.

“Face it, Princey, your tales as old as time just aren’t as magical as you think they are.”

“How _dare_ you!” Roman cries, “Also I am not Princey. I am Roman Prince.”

“Your last name is Prince? Oh, that is rich.”

“Oh, shoot,” Dr. Picani said, looking up from his notebook, “I completely forgot. Names. Those would be a good start. But, Roman Prince,” he takes a deep breath, “serious Picani ACTIVATE!” Logan and Patton jump slightly, “So, why don’t you tell us why you’re here and what you’re hoping to get out of this?”

“I, uh,” For the first time all session, Roman seems unsure, “I have...an eating disorder,” he winces, _that’s what the group was for of course he did_ , “And I, I want to get better?” Nailed it. 

He looked around, waiting for some sort of ridicule, but no one says anything. Not even Virgil. 

Dr. Picani nods, and looks at Virgil.

“I’m Virgil McCloud, and I’m just generally a mess,” he pauses, “I’m here so I don’t hurt Emile’s feelings.”

“I’ll take it,” Dr. Picani looks at Logan.

“I am Logan Crofter, I’ve been diagnosed with anorexia nervosa, and I’m here because my current therapist thought it would be beneficial for me.”

“And I’m Patton! Patton Hart! I...uh...I have bulimia, and I,” his voice suddenly drops to a whisper, “I just don’t want to be lonely anymore.”

He feels everyone’s eyes on him, and hunches in on himself self-consciously, wrapping his arms around his stomach. 

_So_ , Logan thinks, _Someone else feels this way, too._ He glances at Roman and Virgil and can see the same realization going across their faces. Patton was clearly the bravest of the four of them...objectively.

Out of the corner of his eye, Patton can see Dr. Picani nod, sympathetically, “Thank you for sharing that, Patton. I’m sure the other three feel similarly,” he closes his notebook, “Perhaps next time you all can dive into that with Dr. Sanders.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: mentions of eating disorder, self deprecating thoughts, mentions of food, slight bullying, slight homophobia

One day, Roman was going to figure out how to do this right. One day, he was going to figure out the best way to ask his parents to take him to therapy, so there would be no fighting and no passive aggressive eye rolls from his brothers.

That being said, today was not that day.

“Anyway, so I need the car tomorrow-”

“Actually,” Roman cut off his brother, “I need Mom or Dad to drive me somewhere tomorrow.”

His brother, Philip, leaned his head back with a groan, “You haven’t used the car all summer, and the _one_ time I need, suddenly you do too? Typical.” 

“Well, it’s not like I’m doing it on _purpose-_ ”

“What do you need the car for Roman?” His father cut him off. 

“I, uh,” he winced. His family hated stuttering. “I need to go therapy.”

Silence. 

“You went to therapy earlier this week,” his father said, “Isn’t the whole point to go _less?_ ” 

“Well, I haven’t exactly gone before, Dad, I wouldn’t know.”

His father’s hand froze halfway to his mouth and he pinned Roman with an icy glare.

“Watch your tone, young man.”

“Sorry, sir,” Roman rushed out. 

Roman’s family went back to eating. He lasted all of two minutes before he finally cracked.

“But I really, really do need to go tomorrow.” He had seen Dr. Picani earlier this week, but tomorrow he was supposed to go to group therapy, and he couldn’t tell his family it was group therapy because then they’d ask what the group was for, and he definitely couldn’t tell them the truth about _that._

Roman wondered, not for the first time, if they had any idea. He glanced down at his plate. He had a salad while the rest of his family had pasta piled on their plates. It was loaded with sauce, cheese, and even had flakey, buttery garlic bread on the side. Roman had shivered when he saw his mom make it. His salad, however, was made of lettuce and tomatoes, with the tomatoes shoved to the side. There was also dressing on the side, but he knew it would be left untouched. He wasn’t exactly subtle. But they never said anything, so obviously they couldn’t tell!

_Or maybe...they just don’t care._

He stabbed a tomato with a little more force than necessary.

“Whoa, dude, does it owe you money?” Philip asked him.

“Philip, we’ll need you to take Roman to therapy tomorrow,” his father told them.

_“What?”_ they both said. 

“But-” Roman started to protest. 

“But nothing,” his father said. Well, that ended that.

^

The thing is, Roman can remember a time when he and Philip got along. 

He can remember latching on to his brother’s hand and dragging him through the forest behind their house, bravely, until the sun set. He can remember clutching his hand just a little tighter as the moon rose and darkness fell, and how his brother would giggle but guide him home anyway. He can remember throwing towels around their necks for capes and cutting out crowns crudely drawn with crayon. He can remember teaming up against the older two brothers, Alexander and Maximus. Philip and him were only a year apart in age, and usually that year meant nothing to them. Until middle school.

In middle school, suddenly Philip didn’t want to hold hands anymore, because it was “weird.” He sneered when Roman got scared and called him a baby. Roman angrily told him if he was a baby, then so was he, because they were the same age. Then Philip had pushed him into the dirt and walked away, leaving him in the darkness. He didn’t want to play superheroes or princes anymore, because “make believe is gay.” Roman assumed that when he got to middle school, it’d be better. But if anything, it just got worse. 

His family didn’t reject him. He knew he was better off than a lot of other LGBT+ kids and that he should be grateful. But the look his father gave him, back when he first told him, the one that was a mixture of disappointment and disgust haunted him.

“It’s not that you’re gay,” Alex had told him, “It’s just that you’re _so obviously_ gay. Like, can you just chill a little?”

Roman Prince had never known chill, ever, in his life. 

This is what he was thinking about in the car as he was going to his therapy appointment. He wondered if Philip ever remembered the old days.

He wondered if he missed them, too.

“So...how’s it going?”

Roman looked over to the driver’s seat. “Uh. Like life or therapy?”

“Both.”

“Um. Good, I guess?”

“Good enough that it’ll be over soon?”

Boom. There it is.

He let his head fall back into the seat and groaned.

“It’s a _question,_ Roman, God.”

“Yeah, a question you, Max, Alex, Mom, and Dad keep bugging me about.”

“Well, maybe if you gave us some _answers-_ ”

“I keep telling you guys, _I don’t have the answers!_ That’s not how this works!” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother’s knuckles go white from clutching the steering wheel. He took a deep breath, “It’s _helping,_ Philip. Isn’t that good enough?”

There was silence, and for a second Roman thought maybe, finally, he had said the right thing.

“Did you ever think you don’t really _need_ help?”

“Wh-what?”

“Oh, come on, Roman. You’re the most dramatic guy I’ve ever met. Do you really need help, or do you just want attention?”

Roman clenched his jaw. 

“What, you’re not talking to me now? God, grow up, Roman.”

He’s trying to count. Picani gave him a breathing exercise to ward off his anger. What was it?

“Our parents are trying so hard! They’re _hurting,_ Roman! You’re hurting our parents and you don’t even care!”

Roman finally turned to him, “You really think I don’t care?”

“You’re selfish, Roman. You always have been.”

Roman jerked his head back to the window, but it was too late. His brother saw the tears that sprung to his eyes. 

“Oh my God, I can’t even talk to you anymore, you’re so damn dramatic.”

“Turn right.” 

Philip pulled up to the front of the door and leaned over to open the door as Roman unbuckled his seatbelt.

“What are you doing? You need to park-”

“What? And stay here and wait for you? Sorry to break it to you, Princess, but my world does not revolve around you,” he leaned back in his seat, “Just because you don’t have friends anymore doesn’t mean I don’t.”

Then he shoves Roman out of the car. He barely has time to catch himself before falling. 

“But-I-”

“What? What are you going to do about it? Walk home? We both know you’re too much of a little bitch to do that,” he yanked the door closed and sped off.

Roman pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry. He _wasn’t._

It was just then that he glanced up, and froze.

Right on the other side of the street, with his hood up, was Virgil. He was watching the car drive away, clearly having heard most of that. He turned back to Roman. 

Roman opened his mouth to say...something. But Virgil just jerked his head to the door. 

“C’mon.” 

And that was that. They walked up to the door together. 

“You know, that was just brotherly banter…,” Roman tried to defend. 

“Sure, Princey.”

“It _was,_ ” Roman said, “He-he didn’t mean…”

Virgil turned to face him and he froze. They both stopped. 

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

Roman blinked, confused. 

“That’s...not what I would expect from you,” Roman confessed, “But neither! I’m just stating facts!” Virgil quirks an eyebrow, “The facts are that I lead a very normal, very fulfilling life with a lot of love and support.”

Virgil glances at the spot the car was just at, then turns back to face Roman. 

“Sure, that’s why you have an eating disorder.”

Roman sputters, angrily, before spitting out, “Oh! Like you’re any better than me!”

“You’re right,” Virgil says, plainly, “I’m not.”

Roman pauses. That was...not what he was expecting. 

Virgil sighs, and scratches at the back of his neck, awkwardly, “My family is, like, not super great, either, I guess. And Emile thinks we should be, like, open, or whatever. So. Just,” Virgil huffs, like this conversation is putting him in physical pain, “I’m not trying to be a dick, I just get it, okay?”

“O...kay?” Did...did they just have a friendly conversation? 

^

“So, you think this is going to work?” Logan asks Patton, eyebrows raised. 

“Oh, I don’t know, but I’m willing to try anything to get better!” Patton chirps. Logan narrows his eyes slightly. That sounded robotic, as if he had practiced it in the mirror, “Why? Do you not?”

“Our companions got into a fight over Disney,” Logan said, as if that answered the question. When Patton continued to look at him, he sighed and continued, “I suppose I just thought we’d talk about something with more substance.”

“Like why you started skipping meals?”

Logan froze.

“Uh. No. Not that.”

“Because you’d feel awkward,” Patton pointed out, “Heck, I think you guys are great, but I still don’t want to tell you about my disorder! It’s just like Picani said, we need to know each other first.”

Logan tried to imagine a future where he felt comfortable enough around these people to open up to them. He couldn’t. 

“I...guess,” Maybe Thomas was wrong. Maybe group therapy just wasn’t the right fit for him. Maybe he could slip out right now, even-

“Do you, though?” Patton asked, cutting off his thoughts.

“Do I what?”

“Do you remember when you started? You don’t have to tell me when or why,” he hurried to add, “I just...I go back sometimes, you know? And think if that didn’t happen, then I’d be fine. Like, there’s an alternate Patton somewhere who is fine and...and,” _and doesn’t cry when he sees food and doesn’t have calloused knuckles and isn’t disappointing his mother every single day and-_

“I...I do,” Logan says, tentatively. His fingers graze his tie, gently, thankful he had listened to Patton and it this week, “I mean. It’s a gradual thing, of course, it all adds up over the years, but…” But he can still see it in his mind, still hear the sobs, and he thinks, sometimes, maybe, if he hadn’t come home early, that he never would have cared. This never would have started.

They look at each other, and something shifts in Logan. He hasn’t told Patton anything, not really, but he knows, he _knows,_ that Patton understands him better than any of his friends or family ever have.

“Oh, come on!” Roman’s voice booms from the hallway, making them both jump, “Pearl is obviously the best gem!”

“Nope. Lapis.”

_“Why?”_ he wailed, “Pearl fought valiantly in the gem war for the woman she loved, for the world she loved, and even after being heartbroken with Rose, she still cares for Steven! She’s a true, selfless warrior. And she has that cool spear!”

“How does that compare to being able to wield the _entire fucking ocean?_ Also wings.”

Virgil and Roman round the corner, taking the same seats they took last week. 

“Patton! Perfect!” Roman says, “Who’s the best gem?” 

“Well, gee, I think Steven himself is pretty great! After all, he’s selfless, he loves his friends and family, and he’s got that shield!” 

“Oh, come _on!_ ” Roman cried, again, “Pearl is _so_ underappreciated! What about her tragic love for Rose?” 

“What about Lapis’s tragic _everything?”_ Virgil counters. 

“And Steven has a pretty tragic past with Rose, too, and he didn’t even get a choice. He has all this crushing pressure, and he just takes it all in stride-” 

“So does Pearl! And she’s taking care of him, no one helped _her_ -” 

“And we’re back to no one taking care of Lapis either-” 

“But Steven-” 

“Guys, can we not do this this session, please?” Logan speaks up, and they all quiet down, “There is no use in fighting over fake characters.” 

... 

“Besides, Peridot has the best redemption arc, and that is just a fact. 

Wha- _Oh!_ You liar!” Roman says as Patton’s eyes light up, “You said you didn’t watch cartoons!" 

“I didn’t lie, at that moment in time, I didn’t. But I was confused about the references Dr. Picani made to them, so I googled it when I got home and I watched it. For research purposes, obviously.” 

“Uh-huh, so how much research did you do?” Virgil asks. 

“Well...I may have...watched the entire show.” 

You binge-watched Steven Universe?!” Patton cries, excitedly, “Oh that’s so great! Who are your favorites? What was your favorite episode? Did you see it coming?! Who-” 

“As much as I hate to interrupt a conversation about Steven Universe,” Dr. Sanders says, stepping into the room, “I think we should begin.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: depression, discussion of disordered eating habits, discussion of purging (nothing graphic though)

He thought sadness was loud. He thought his feelings would be ripped out of him with a yell and a dramatic swell of music. Instead, it was quiet. It was hollow, as if something had buried itself deep inside him and grew slowly every day. It broke him apart slowly, leaving nothing but a shell. 

But it was fine. It’s fairly easy to live as a shell. No one even seemed to notice they were walking next to a ghost. Besides, it wasn’t like he made a big impact in the first place. No, even as a child, Virgil knew he was made to be invisible. 

Then, suddenly, someone-technically, like, three someones-decided to yank him out of limbo and back into his body, asking his ghost to be confined to skin and bone again. No one had even bothered to ask him if he wanted to be seen again. 

Honestly, it would have been easier on him and better for everyone if they had just let him go. He could keep floating.

Currently, that was what he was trying to do, to shove himself as far into the background as possible. But his life had turned completely on its head and he was still trying to learn the new rules. One, you can’t say stuff like that. It makes people sad, and makes therapists throw around words like “depression.” Two, therapists are now a thing, so he had to deal with that. He had made it his goal to be as distant as possible with the last two, but Dr. Picani had been alright-ish, so he stuck with him. At least he didn’t pry as much. 

But maybe he had been a little too trusting, because now he was in a therapy session with four strangers, one of which was specifically trained and educated to see through bullshit.

So who could blame Virgil if he glared a little when Dr. Sanders entered? Honestly, he was counting it as a victory that he didn’t hiss.

He noticed Thomas was carrying Picani’s brown notebook and he frowned deeper. When filling out the paperwork to join in on this whole thing, they had been informed that Dr. Picani and Dr. Sanders would be exchanging notes, with their consent, of course. Emile may have been decent to Virgil’s face, but he had no idea what he was writing in that thing. 

“I don’t think your counselors are going to gossip about you,” his aunt had said to him.

“Yeah, well, I don’t particularly care about what you think,” Virgil says. 

His aunt, Violet, didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch, because she’s grown accustomed to it in the last few months. Virgil still feels a pang of guilt, because he knows he should be kinder, and a wave of fear, because he knows eventually the other shoe will drop and she’ll get tired of playing martyr, and then what’s going to happen to him? He wonders how many people thought about that when they decided to “improve” his life.

“So, today,” Thomas says, bringing him back to the present, “I thought we could approach some important topics in recovery, specifically in regards to your goals. Why are you recovering? What brought you here today?”

There’s a brief silence as they all seem to reflect.

“A car,” Patton responds. 

Virgil laughs before he can catch himself, and slaps a hand across his mouth. Thomas laughs, too, and Roman grins. Logan just looks confused. 

“I think he meant why, Patton.”

“Well, shucks, I thought we already covered that! We want to get better!”

“Yes, but what does better look like for you guys? What are some smaller, concrete goals that you can work towards?”

Virgil tries to think. He doesn’t really have any goals, not in life, not in recovery. Hell, he didn’t think he’d get this far. He had trained himself not to want anything for so long, and now he wasn’t only supposed to recover, but have actual, little steps leading up to it? How? _How?_

_Maybe I don’t want to recover._

“Let’s start off a little bit easier, what pushed you guys to come here in the first place?”

There’s silence before Roman clears his throat. 

“I would stay with my teacher during lunch last year,” he starts. Virgil frowns. From...well, everything about Roman, he would have assumed he at least had a friend or two to eat lunch with, “And one day she sat me down and said she wanted to talk about my food. We talked, and, well-she said I might have an eating disorder. So I went to the school counselor, told them the same thing, and they convinced my parents to send me here.”

He’s leaving out details, of course. He doesn’t mention how his friends got sick of him and his “picky eating.” He doesn’t mention that sometimes he was late for school because he was so stressed over _packing his lunch c’mon Roman it’s simple._ He doesn’t mention how his grades were slipping because he couldn’t concentrate or that he was falling asleep because he was so tired. Looking at it, it’s obvious. But it wasn’t until she pulled him aside that he had even considered it.

He had walked into her room during lunch, as he did at least twice a week, only to find she had pulled up a chair across from her desk. She was frowning deeply at it. He could feel his anxiety building, but pushed it down with a light, “Everything gucci, Mrs. Spencer?”

She looked up, but didn’t smile. She nodded her head at the chair. 

“Have a seat, Roman, I’d like to discuss something with you.”

Roman did, and slid his food underneath the desk. He had a feeling today was going to be a “no eating” day. Her frown just deepened.

“Roman, what have you eaten today?”

He blinked. Not was he was expecting. 

“I haven’t been hungry, teach, but I snuck in some celery earlier.”

She hummed, “What did you have for dinner last night?”

“Some salad.”

“The night before?”

“What is this, an interrogation?” his heart was beating fast, and it came out sharper than he anticipated. She softened.

“Roman, I’m...concerned is all.”

“About…?” 

“Your eating, or lack thereof. And what it means to you.”

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so?” Roman laughed, “I’m fine, teach! Just been cutting back a little, is all.”

“I think you’re cutting back too much,” she said, quietly, and his smile fell, but she wasn’t done, “You don’t eat enough of your major food groups your sticking to fruits and vegetables and your variety is shrinking-”

“But they’re good for you!”

“With a balanced diet,” she sighed, “I’ve _watched_ you. I’ve seen you change from last year to this year, and not only are you isolating yourself and becoming a worse student, but you’re physically falling apart, Roman.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Do you have an eating disorder, Roman?”

Laughter filled the room. Loud, boisterous, with nothing being held back. Roman’s shoulders shook. 

Dot Spencer frowned and leaned forward just as her student bent forward and gasped for breath. But the sound shifted. It was broken, wet, and suddenly she realized he was crying. She walked around her desk and knelt beside him, putting her hands on his shoulders. He covered his face with his hands, knowing he looked like a mess. 

“We’ll get you help, Ro.”

But it’s only the second session. They don’t need to know all that.

“It’s good that you told us that, Roman,” Patton speaks up. All the eyes in the room shift to him, and he steels himself, “My, uh, my mom found me. When I was...purging.” 

He had it down to a science. He would grab a granola bar for breakfast, pack the healthiest lunch he could, and happily eat anything his mama made for him for dinner. Then at midnight, he’d wake up, and sneak downstairs, and eat.

Then he’d go to the bathroom, stick his finger down his throat, brush his teeth until his gums bled, and then head back up to his room. 

He was tired that night. He let the bathroom door hang open.

 _“What are you doing?!”_ his mama had shouted. And he yanked his fingers away from his mouth, but it was too late. 

He shot to his feet- _I’msorryi’msorryi’msorry_ -but then he looked at his mom’s eyes, and he couldn’t say anything. Her hands were covering her mouth, and tears were glistening in her eyes. 

She yanked him close to her, holding him tight, and he finally kicked back into gear. 

“I-it was an accident, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t-didn’t feel well,” He says into her shoulder. He can feel light kisses pressing against his hair, and he shuts his eyes as they well up.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered. She ran her fingers through his hair, “I love you.”

And they stay like that for a while. The next day he stays home, but they don’t talk about it, and he hopes that maybe she believed him about just not feeling well, but then two days later they drive to Foster’s. He wants to protest, but anytime he looks at her, he’s transported back to that night, and can see the tears welling up in her eyes. 

He gets out of the car without a sound. He tells the nurse, the doctor, the therapist, anyone who will listen, that he really, _really_ wants to get better. 

But he still sneaks down every night at midnight.

Patton doesn’t want to think about that. And he definitely doesn’t want these four people to keep staring at him. 

“What about you, Logan?”

“There’s not much of a story,” he says, “I went to the doctor, because I was having several health symptoms, he said it came from my eating habits, it was classified as an eating disorder, and now I’m here,” he pauses, then hesitantly adds, “No one noticed.”

“Just because some people don’t recognize the nature of eating disorders, Logan, doesn’t mean they don’t care,” Thomas points out. 

“Perhaps,” Logan says, nodding, before continuing, angrily, “I guess I just don’t get it, my parents are intelligent people, and some of my symptoms are _textbook,_ I don’t get why they wouldn’t-” he cuts himself off, taking a deep breath.

“It’s okay to be mad your parents, Logan,” Patton jumps in, before Thomas can, “I mean, heck, my mama’s great and I still get mad at her sometimes!”

“But there’s no point.”

“Sure, there is,” Thomas says, “There multiple approaches and theories to emotions and how they’re beneficial, but ultimately, anger tells us when something needs to change.”

“But I can’t change my parents!”

“Can you change how they respond to your eating disorder? Through education?”

“I-Well,” Logan sighs, trying to compose himself again, “They’re not interested. They just want me to get better. Though I think it’s safe to say all parents want that. No one wants their child to be hurt, much less die.”

Virgil’s breath gets caught. _Oh no._

“Die?” Patton questions.

“Sure, eating disorders are one of the deadliest mental illnesses to have,” Thomas says, “But I want to go back to a different thing you said Logan. You said your parents don’t want you to be hurt, but are they hurting you by ignoring your feelings and belittling your condition?”

“That’s different,” Logan responds automatically.

“Interesting. How?” 

Logan huffs, “I don’t know, I guess because they don’t mean to do it? You're the therapist, Dr. Sanders, you’re supposed to be teaching me these things.” 

Thomas smiles and makes a note in the notebook, thinking over his next questions, but he freezes when he looks up.

Virgil is staring at nothing on the floor, very intensely. He’s also breathing heavily, as if he can’t get enough. 

When Thomas’s face changes, Logan glances over at him, too. He furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Virgil? Are you okay?”

His head snaps up, and he shakes it trying to clear it. 

“I-I don’t,” he shakes his head, trying to clear it, but he can’t, he _can’t,_ and he bolts out of the room before he can think it through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me nice comments, it gives me something to do on my break. Or not. I appreciate you reading this either way!
> 
> My tumblr is timeoutforthee if you wanna come say hi!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: self deprecating thoughts, mentions of calories

The door was barely closed when Patton jumped up from his seat. 

Dr. Sanders considered telling him to sit back down and let him take care of it, but who knew if that would work? Emile had warned him that Virgil didn’t trust others easily, especially therapists. So when Patton glanced at him uneasily, he gave him a small nod, and he rushed after Virgil. 

Turns out, he didn’t have to go too far. Virgil was at the end of the hallway, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his head resting on his knees. His hood was pulled down, so Patton couldn’t see his face. However, when he approached, he could hear small gasps and could see him shaking.

Virgil was crying. 

On instinct, Patton reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but he flinched away violently, and Patton yanked his hand back.

Okay, this just got a bit harder. How does one comfort without hugging?

Virgil gasped a little louder, and Patton realized the first thing he had to was get him to stop crying, if for no other reason than to let him catch his breath.

Gently, he sat down in front of him. He thought a moment.

“Why couldn’t the bicycle stand up by itself?” 

Virgil didn’t respond, just gasped again. 

“It was too tired.”

He paused, trying to think again.

“I littered some pennies earlier today. I hope the coppers don’t come after me.”

Patton couldn’t hear him crying anymore, so he hoped this was going somewhere.

“Do you know why flamingos sleep with one leg up? Because if they slept with both legs up, they’d fall over!”

Something that sounded suspiciously like a snort came from Virgil. They sat in silence for a second, before he slowly tilted his head so he could peek at Patton from underneath his hood. 

“What the matter, kiddo? Do your socks have holes in them?”

“Uh, no-”

“Then how’d you get your feet in them?” This time Patton let himself laugh as Virgil smiled, “I didn’t know what to do to make you feel better, so I thought I’d try distraction,” he paused, suddenly unsure, “Did it help?”

Virgil still wasn’t feeling great, but he could at least breathe and stopped crying. Mostly. 

“It, uh, it did. Thanks,” He lifted his head the rest of the way, and Patton’s heart broke a little bit. Virgil just looked _so sad._ His eyes were red and watery still, and the tear tracks hadn’t dried on his cheeks. 

Patton pulled the sleeve of his sweater over his hand, and reached up to his cheek, ready to wipe them away. He paused when he saw the look on Virgil’s face. 

“Sorry, this is probably weird,” he said, “I just come from a very touchy family.”

“I...don’t,” Virgil says after a while. Patton lifts his hand again and dabs at Virgil’s cheeks as he closes his eyes. 

“There you go, kiddo.”

“Kid-I’m the same age as you?” 

Patton shrugs. Then he shifts so he can sit next to Virgil against the wall. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Virgil says, staring ahead at nothing, “I very much do not want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about my goals or my family or-”

“Hey, that’s okay,” Patton says, cutting Virgil off before he can work himself into a panic again, “Dr. Sanders won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to.”

Virgil narrows his eyes, looking skeptical, and honestly Patton can’t blame him. 

They sit in silence a bit, until Virgil says, “Hey, Patton?”

“Yeah?”

“Where do you learn to make ice cream?” 

Patton turns to him, and his eyes light up like an excited puppy, “I don’t know, where?”

“Sunday school.”

Patton laughs, and his laughter makes Virgil smile. 

“Do you wanna head back to the session?”

“I mean, no,” Virgil says, “But I guess if we have to.”

Patton stands up and offers Virgil a hand. He takes it.

^

Dr. Sanders pauses as the door opens and Patton and Virgil walk in.

“Welcome back, guys,” he says, as they sit down, “Logan was just telling us one of his stepping stones towards recovery.”

“Ooh, what’s that?” Patton asks. 

Logan fiddles with his glasses, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s foolish, really, but I want to eat jam again.” He waits for laughter. There is none. 

“Jam?” Virgil asks. He nods.

“There’s a brand that has the same name as me-Crofter’s-and I’ve been eating it since I was a child. I haven’t had it in a while, because, well…”

He doesn’t have to say it. Jam has too much sugar. Jam has too many calories. 

“I’ve been making my own breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the past year and a half. Which is fine, I’ll have to do that when I’m an adult, but it’d be nice to just sit down and enjoy a family meal that my mom made,” Roman says. 

Dr. Sanders nods, “What about you, Virgil?”

Virgil sighs, steeling himself. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Well, surely, there’s something-” 

“No, you don’t get it,” Virgil cuts Roman off, “I _really_ don’t know. I have no goals. I don’t know what my future is going to be like. Up until, like, three months ago, recovery wasn’t an option. I didn’t even know I _had_ to recover. Life just...was the way it was and I had to deal with it.”

“No goals?” Logan says, “Don’t you know what you want to do after high school? You are a junior, right?”

“Yeah, I am, but no, I don’t,” Logan’s eyes go wide, “My school didn’t exactly care about their students. Plus I wasn’t very smart, or talented in anything, so I just kinda…” _didn’t exist_ “didn’t stand out.”

“Do you think that’ll change since you’re transferring?” Thomas asks him. 

“I mean, I’m still not smart or talented, so-”

“Hey, now, I’m sure that’s not true!” Patton interrupts. 

“No, it’s pretty much true-”

“Have you ever tried to find a talent?” Roman asks, “You could join the theater department!”

“That sounds awful-”

“Or yearbook!” Patton chimes in.

“But I-”

“Debate team, science club, there are many clubs at our school, I’m sure you’d be able to find something,” Logan says, “Also, if you’re worried about not being “smart,” I can help tutor you.”

“Maybe,” Dr. Sanders cuts in, quietly, “The first thing Virgil should do is some reflecting-”

“Again, sounds awful.”

“Just take some time and see if there’s anything you _want_ to do, that will make you happy. Maybe that should be your first step.”

“So my first step is creating a first step?” Virgil says, “Great. Second session and I’m already behind.”

“This isn’t a race, Virgil, you guys are teammates, not competitors,” Thomas points out, “But you’re in control, here. Is there something you want to do?”

And Virgil goes quiet, because no, there’s nothing. Except... _don’t be stupid._

“Virgil?” Thomas prompts and Virgil wonders how therapists do that, how they seem to read minds. 

“It’s stupid,” he says, automatically, and he immediately knows it’s a mistake, because Patton looks sad and Thomas is gearing up for another cheesy quote. Thankfully, Logan cuts them both off. 

“I want to eat a spoonful of jam, Virgil,” he says, “A victory is however we define it.”

“I...want...to dye my hair purple,” Virgil says and he winces, “I’ve always wanted to, but I couldn’t, and now I can, plus I aIways feel so invisible but now people are starting to see me, whether I want them to or not, I guess, and I I just sorta...want to be in control of how they see me?” he shakes his head, “That doesn’t make any sense-”

“Oh, that would look so _epic!_ ” Roman says, loudly. 

“Yes!” Patton says.

Which is...not what Virgil was expecting. He turns to Logan, who obviously has to see this is stupid...but Logan just shrugs.

“If it benefits your mental health, you should do it. Good mental health is important.”

“Good point, Logan. And Virgil, I think that’s a very creative way to make you feel like you have some sort of control. However, I do think you should still some reflecting. Perhaps with Picani?”

“Oh…,” is all Virgil can say, “um...cool.”

Dr. Sanders gives a nod, then turns to Patton.

“Hmmm...I don’t know, doc. I don’t exactly deny myself anything, if you couldn’t tell by looking at me!” 

Virgil narrows his eyes. _Wait-_

“So I think the best thing would be for me to just stop with the purging nonsense!”

_Wait-_

“That...doesn’t sound like a healthy mindset,” Logan says.

“And it definitely doesn’t sound like a first step,” Roman adds. 

“Correct,” Dr. Sanders says, and Patton’s smile falls, “What are some things coming up that may be a challenge for you?”

“I...well,” Patton doesn’t want to say it. He _really_ doesn’t want to say it, “I guess the closest one would be...school shopping. For, like, new clothes.”

To his surprise, Roman visibly shudders. 

“Oh, I used to love going clothes shopping, but now…,” he shakes his head. 

Patton is confused. Roman is a bit thicker than average with broad shoulders, but all of it comes from muscles. Patton, on the other hands, is the biggest one in the room, and none of it is from muscle.

“It’s very common for clothes shopping to be stressful for those with body image issues,” Thomas says, “So, Patton, I think my challenge to you is going to be to reward yourself for getting through it.”

“Reward…? But, that’s not a challenge?”

“On the contrary, I think it’ll be very hard for you to be kind to yourself,” Thomas says, “That’s the point for all these challenges. While we’re working on finding the source of your eating disorders, and grappling with all these feelings that you may be struggling with, you need to be treating yourself as kindly as possible, and this is just the first step. I think the best thing would be to try and make it fun for you.”

“Clothes shopping is a necessity, it’s not fun,” Logan says.

“Well, what’s something fun you could buy?”

“But clothing doesn’t have a feeling-”

“A cape!” Roman says, “Or a crown.” 

“Or a onesie,” Virgil says.

“Ooh!” Patton says, “Yeah. I could do that, maybe...if you think it’ll help.”

“With that,” Dr. Sanders looks at his watch, “That’s all the time we have. You can let Dr. Picani know how your goals went.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me comments to read on my break! Or come say hi on tumblr: timeoutforthee!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: mentions of calorie counting (no numbers) and mentions of disordered eating habits

Why did human beings need to eat?

It was such a simple question, one that had such an obvious answer, so much so that people usually didn’t give it a second thought. Humans needed to eat, because food served as fuel. That was a fact.

Logan lived for facts. He found comfort in knowledge, in knowing certainties. He knew, logically, that if he kept denying his body food, that it would eventually stop running. That’s what science said. 

But when Logan looked at food, he didn’t see fuel. He didn’t think of taste. Instead, they were covered in numbers, which all flowed together in a never ending math problem he couldn’t solve. 

“What do you mean by that?” Dr. Sanders asked.

Logan groaned. He was so good at explaining science, but when it came to feelings, he was hopeless. 

“I know calorie counts, and I know how many calories I can burn by doing certain exercises,” he responded, “And every day, I strive to keep the input and output at an even zero.”

“Why?”

Logan paused. He...hadn’t really thought about it.

“I...I just have to.”

“What do you think would happen if you didn’t?”

Truthfully, probably nothing. Probably he’d gain a few pounds and stop having issues with his physical health. Probably he wouldn’t need to come to therapy anymore. Probably he could go back to being normal. And all that sounded like what he wanted. Yet, when he thought about a world where he stopped counting, it made a sudden surge of panic rip through him. 

“Not an option.”

To all the world, Logan is earth. He is grounded and stable, something unshakable. Nobody sees the fire within. He made sure of that.

It burns. The passion, the rage, it all boils deep under his skin. He tries to soothe it with cold, hard facts. He doesn’t want to scare people. But sometimes he even scares himself. He crushes his feelings because he thinks, if he doesn’t, they might just take over. 

Is that what they’re doing right now? 

Because, really, jam should not be filled with this many emotions.

There was nostalgia, sure. He can remember making his own peanut butter and jelly sandwiches after loudly announcing to his parents that they weren’t doing it _right_ , it needed more _jelly_. He can remember setting the jar by his homework, rewarding himself with a spoonful after particularly challenging problems. All positive, innocent memories, if not a bit childish. 

He had pulled the jar out of the cabinet unceremoniously. This was a simple task, which would add up to an overall more positive experience, and it was one he had completed as a child. Surely, _surely,_ he could do it. It was normal, it was a normal snack, and he was a normal person who was going to eat it normally. 

Right now.

Except half an hour had passed and his spoon was still empty. 

Logan sighed angrily and rubbed his hands down his face. 

The worst part was that he didn’t understand. He was the smart one, the one who knew all the facts, the one who knew all the answers. So why couldn’t his brain just _realize_ this was what was best for him and _do it already?_

“Logan?”

He glanced toward the door. 

“Oh. Hi, mom.”

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m eating.”

She glanced at the table, specifically at the still closed jar and the clean spoon. 

“O...kay?” she walked over to the jar, picking it up, “Mind if I take a bite?”

“Sure.” _See it’s so EASY-_

But before he could finish his thought, his mom flipped the jar over, looking at the Nutritional Facts. She wrinkled her nose in disgust before setting it down. 

“Eugh. Never mind,” she said.

His mom left the room, completely unaware of the damage she had done. Logan tried to fight the urge, he really did, but he couldn’t help it. He flipped the jar over himself. He knew the number on the back, knew the calorie counts of so many foods he was surprised his mind had room for anything else. 

Groaning, he tore the label off. Fine. He still had time, he still had a week to do this. He could do this. 

^

“Roman! Get out of the bathroom already!”

“Just a second,” he grumbles, scratching at his hands under the water. It’s practically boiling, and his hands are stinging, but every time he pulls them out, it’s like he can see the grease covering his hands. 

“You’ve been in there for twenty minutes, come on!”

Roman glances up. Had it really been that long? He glances at the clock on the wall. Oh. Oops.

Reluctantly, he flips the water off and dries his hands. They’re red by now, and the skin is sensitive. 

He had told his mom, with a little too much enthusiasm, that he would be joining them for dinner, and no, he didn’t need a seperate meal, he’d just have what they were having. Looking back, he really should have asked what it was first, or paid more attention. Because it was Friday, and Friday meant his brother Alex was coming for a visit from college, and Alex always wanted pizza. Extra large, greasy, cheesy pizza. 

Roman opens the door and finds Alex standing there. He frowns. 

“I thought you were taking a shower? The water was running.”

“Yeah, I was washing my hands.”

“You were washing your hands...for twenty minutes…”

“Yes,” Roman says, indignantly, but he doesn’t have a defense.

“I mean, okay, weirdo,” Alex pushes past him and Roman heads to his room.

He takes a deep breath. Okay. So it was kinda a disaster. So he had to take a napkin and try to soak up the grease. So he had to cut the pizza into tiny pieces. So both of these things made him take twice as long to eat as the rest of his family. So he kept catching his parents giving each other _looks._

He had done it. He did it, and it was over. 

Suddenly it hit him. It wasn’t over. This was the first step. It would keep going. And it was just going to get worse.

His stomach lurched and he slapped a hand over his mouth. He leaned his forehead against the wall of the hallway. He tried taking a few deep breaths, like Dr. Picani had shown him.

“Roman?”

“H-Hey mom,” He said, turning his head, and taking his hand away.

His mom narrows her eyes, “Everything okay?”

He smiles, but its strained, “Yep! Peachy!”

She nods and walks past him, but stops and turns around.

“Oh! I almost forgot! How did you like dinner?”

“It was great.”

^

“I had dinner with my family,” Roman tells the rest of the group. 

Dr. Picani frowns. Roman has been uncharacteristically quiet this session. He makes a small note to bring it up later, either in the next session or during their individual. 

“That’s good, right?” Patton says, looking at Dr. Picani with uncertainty out of the corner of his eye. A new grey sweater is wrapped around his shoulders, offering a comforting weight. It wasn’t a onesie or a crown, but it was something.

Dr. Sanders had been right. It _was_ hard for Patton to reward himself, partly because he didn’t think he deserved it because normal people could go shopping all the time, partly because Patton was, honestly, kind of the worst person when he was shopping.

He didn’t mean to be. But all the shame bubbled to the surface, and he had to constantly wrestle with it in his head to try and keep himself from breaking down in dressing rooms. Sometimes, he didn’t succeed and ended up on the floor, sniffling while his mom hovered outside. 

That was also the worst. His mom didn’t deserve Patton’s anger, but she’s the one who ended up with most of it. This shopping trip had been no exception. So when she showed Patton the light grey sweater, and had him feel how soft it was, instead of trying it on he had wrapped it around his shoulders, and called it a day. It wasn’t a onesie or a crown, but it was sorta like a cape, and that was fun, so it counted, right?

“Absolutely,” Dr. Picani said, brightening, “Unless there’s something more you wanted to discuss regarding it…?”

Roman shook his head, silently. 

Virgil looked from Roman over to the therapist, a hint of concern on his face. His hood was up, like always, but the bangs were a bright purple and hung in his face. 

He had tried to do it himself,but he ended up frozen with all the supplies set out. He didn’t want to stain anything, so he had tried to cover everything, but then he had wasted so much aluminum foil, and what if he stained the towels, also his hands were shaking so he was destined to fuck up, and if he fucked up everyone would be able to tell oh _God-_

“Are you dying your hair?”

Virgil jumped. He hadn’t even noticed his aunt in the door. 

“Uh, I was, but I won’t stain anything, I swear-”

Violet snorted. “Yeah, sure, good luck with that.” Virgil paled and she mentally smacked herself, “You know, I used to dye my own hair. I could help you. If you wanted.”

“Help…?”

“Sure. Did you get bleach?” Virgil nodded and gestured to its place on the sink. 

Violet grabbed a pair of plastic gloves from under the sink and pulled out the brush. 

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

Virgil still wasn’t sure what to make of his aunt, but he had to admit his hair looked a lot better than what it would have if he had done it himself. 

“Alright, Roman,” Dr. Picani said, before turning to Logan, who was also silent this session, “What about you, Logan?”

Logan’s arms were crossed in front of him, and he was staring at the floor. He took a deep, shaky breath. 

“I failed.”

“Thank you for sharing how you feel, Logan, however, I would challenge you to take a different approach in how you view it-”

“How I _view_ it? I am _viewing_ it very clearly,” Logan snaps his head up, “I had the simplest challenge, doing something I enjoy, and I couldn’t do it.”

“Did you try?”

“Of course I tried, do you know how many hours I spent staring at that stupid jar?” 

“The fact that you even considered doing this shows that your dedication to recovery. Isn’t that a positive thing?”

Logan can hear the tiny child inside him whine _“No. It’s not enough. I wanna be better now!”_ but he takes a deep breath, allowing him to silence it. 

“I suppose.”

“But?” Dr. Picani prompts.

“But...it’s not good enough.”

“So you feel like what you’ve accomplished-and, though you may feel like it wasn’t much, you did accomplish something-wasn’t enough. Does that in turn make you feel like you’re not good enough?”

Logan blinked, caught off guard. Emile smiled. 

“Those degrees on the wall aren’t just for show, Logan, I am in fact a very educated man.”

Logan pointedly looks at the desk behind Picani, where he’s set out figurines of Spongebob and Patrick. 

“A very educated man who isn’t _boring._ But anyway, we’re getting off track. We were talking about your self worth.”

Logan groaned. He could have sworn they were just having debates about cartoons. What happened to that?

“I suppose my self worth could be better.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” 

“I just feel like I, as a human being, have a very specific purpose, but I constantly fall short.”

“So is it possible you just have a different purpose?” Virgil asks. 

“No,” Logan says, immediately. Virgil quirks an eyebrow. 

“When Virgil made that suggestion, how did it make you feel, Logan?”

_Anger shame embarrassment panic-_

“It didn’t make me feel anything,” Now Roman is raising his eyebrows and Patton is looking at him in concern, “It doesn’t make me feel anything, because it isn’t true. I know my purpose, I know my place, and I fit neatly and effortlessly into that place. I just need to work a little harder.”

“Hm,” Dr. Picani says, “So, unfortunately, I think we’re running a little low on time to fully discuss this. Instead, I have a challenge for next session.”

Logan relaxes slightly until Dr. Picani speaks again.

“Guys, this world is full of infinite possibilities. Every choice you make could lead in a completely different direction. Heck, coming here has significantly changed the outcome of your future. I want you think of three ways-just three-that your life could turn out. Three different goals.”

“...you want us to write aus for ourselves,” Virgil deadpans. 

“Yes!” Dr. Picani cries, pointing his pen at Virgil, “This will give you guys encouragement. It’ll show you that there are so many options for you without your eating disorder. It will also help you see what goals you want to accomplish.”

“But I _know_ the single thing I want to do,” Logan says, “I don’t need to know the others.”

“Awww, come on, Logan,” Patton says, “It’ll be fun!” he gasps, “You could be a scientist or a librarian or a teacher-”

“Teachers don’t make any money-” Logan cuts himself off. Whoa. He sounded like his father there for a second. 

“Well, in a future where money wasn’t an option, what would you do?” Dr. Picani says, “Obviously, that’s something we, as humans, need to address in the real world, but when you’re reflecting on what could be, you won’t be held to those limitations. And with that-” he shuts his notebook. “Dr. Sanders will be with you next week.”

^

It is four in the morning. 

Logan is sneaking down to the kitchen. The smallest bit of light is hanging in the sky, even though the sun isn’t there yet. The world is quiet. 

He only turns on one light, the one in the kitchen. He is trying to cause as little disturbance as possible. 

He once told his dad that “midnight to four doesn’t count.” His dad had responded “what the hell does that mean?” He had shrugged, but what he really meant was that there was a kind of peace you could find in the early mornings, something you couldn’t quite grasp during the day time. He used to have a bad time of staying up at night, gazing at the stars and enjoying the invisible hours, but once he realized that wasn’t conducive to healthy sleep schedule, he stopped. 

But now, here he was. 

He pulled the Crofter’s jar out of the fridge. Half of it was gone, eaten by his parents. He popped the jar open. 

He took a deep breath. 

He tried to remember what Dr. Picani said. How even if he couldn’t do it, making the choice to try was important. Even if he failed-no, even if he couldn’t do this today, he was still making progress. 

He grabbed a spoon and scooped some up. He hesitated for only a second before he finally took a bite. 

The flavor filled his mouth. This was, easily, the most flavorful thing he had eaten in months. It was sweet, and had the perfect combination of fruit flavors. 

He swallowed and realized there was a lump in his throat. Was he...He wiped his eyes and realized, yes, he was actually crying over eating a snack.

But, somehow, he was too proud of himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little late because my job pulled some bullshit with my schedule, so sorry about that!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of skipping meals, self harm (skip the last section, after Thomas says "Until next time, guys.")

“Why do you bring your notebook to lunch?”

Virgil glared. Though, he basically always glared at Mitchell. Yes, he was Elliott’s boyfriend. Yes, Virgil should have been a good friend and supported his best friend. Yes, he technically didn’t do anything in the month or two they had been dating. But Virgil didn’t trust him. 

“Virge, do you trust anyone?” Elliott had asked, jokingly.

“I mean,” Virgil had immediately gotten defensive, “I trust you.”

“Then can you trust me when I say Mitchell is good for me?” they ask. Then, quietly, “It’s amazing, Virgil. I’ve never felt like this. I think it’s love at first sight.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything, because he can’t, not really. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, hell, he’s not even sure if he believes in love, and Elliott’s right-he’s not the most trusting person. And Elliott’s his best friend, and he doesn’t want them to hate him.

_He can do that all on his own._

Virgil crosses his arms over the black notebook. It doesn’t look like his school notebooks, which are plain and spiral bound. This one is thicker, with nice binding that doesn’t rip, and it looks like leather, so its cover never gets bent. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Chill,” Mitchell says, rolling his eyes, “I’m just asking. You carry it everywhere, it’s weird.”

Virgil winces inwardly. He’s been told he’s weird often enough, he should be used to it by now. 

“Mitchell,” Elliott says in a warning tone. 

“What? It is. Look, he’s so defensive over it, it’s like he’s got a hit list in there or something!”

Virgil scowls, and opens it up, flipping it quickly so that he can see the writing on the pages without being able to read the words. 

“See? No hit list, just...poetry. And stories...sometimes.”

Before he can react, Mitchell snatches the book out of his hands so he can properly read it. Elliott looks at Virgil in panic, since they know how personal some of the writing can be. 

“Give it back,” they say, already trying to push the front cover shut.

“Why? Virgil doesn’t mind, right?” Mitchell smiles across the lunch table at him, “We’re friends, right?”

“Um-”

“So, Virgil, as a friend, can I tell you something?”

“Since when were we-”

“This is garbage.”

Virgil’s stomach drops, and Elliott is rushing to his defense.

“What are you talking about? I’ve read it, it’s amazing-”

“If you’re an emo middle schooler,” Mitchell frowns over at Virgil, “Though I guess since you’re an emo freshman-”

“Mitchell, would you stop?”

“Why are you defending him? Look at this shit-”

“It’s not-”

“Forget it, Elliott,” Virgil says, and he yanks the notebook out of Mitchell’s hands. He stands up.

“Where are you going?” they ask.

“Not here.”

“Virgil, you’ve skipped lunch, like, three times this week,” Elliott says, concerned.

“Well, guess we’re going for a whole week, then,” Virgil says. He turns his back so he doesn’t see their face and walks off.

As he passes by the trash can, he pauses. He looks down at the notebook in his hand. He really should. He’s not any good at writing, he just likes it. He’s wasting his time. 

There’s no point. 

But he can’t do it. Even smelling the trash and thinking about his notebook drenched in unfinished milk feels wrong. And so what? It’s his time, he can waste it if he wants to.

^

“I didn’t know you could write!” Dr. Picani says, lighting up. 

“I can’t,” Virgil clarifies, “I just like it.”

Taking Dr. Sanders advice, Virgil was “reflecting” on his goals and what he wanted to be. For the next session, they were supposed to have three different goals in their life. Instead, Virgil only had one word written down. _A poet._

“Mmm, considering your outlook on yourself, and how writers tend to view their own writing in general, I’m hesitant to believe that’s true,” Dr. Picani says. 

“Picani, I have shown four people my writing, three of them said it was terrible.” He didn’t exactly show two of them, they just read, but it counted.

“Really? Who were these people?”

“Just, uh, just...some friends,” he pauses, “And my dad.”

“Is he the one who didn’t say it was terrible?”

Virgil almost laughs. “No. It was Elliott.”

“Ah, are they a good friend of yours?”

“...Picani, you know them. Their sister literally brought me to our first session. You had a conversation in the lobby before I came in.”

“I don’t recall,” Dr. Picani says, “Buuuut if I did, I probably would say something along the lines of I can’t talk about my other patients with another patient. That goes against confidentiality.”

“So...you haven’t said anything to them about me?”

“Nope.”

“And...I can’t ask how they’re doing?”

“You could ask them that.”

“We’re fighting.”

“Hm,” Dr. Picani says, opening his notebook.

“Nope. No, no, no, no, no. Put that away, we’re not talking about it or them.”

“Okay, we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to talk about,” Emile reassures him, “I just gotta know what you _do_ want to talk about.”

Virgil frowns, trying to skim through topics. What is safe for him to talk about?

“Do you want to talk about your writing?”

“What about it?”

“Do you still do it?”

“I, uh, took a break.”

Sorta. Because Virgil hasn’t done any writing since...the incident. So, about six months. But he can’t stop. His thoughts rearrange themselves into stanzas. He labors over the perfect way to phrase something he knows no one will hear. He scratches anything inspiring on scraps of paper, but he tosses them out. Writing hurt. If he had known it would cause the trouble it did, he really would have tossed out his notebook two years ago. 

^

Here is how Logan’s life is going to go: He was going to be the smartest student at his high school. He needed a 4.0, and preferably he would be valedictorian. He would move to the local state college and major in Computer Science. Then, he would move back into town, where he would get his own apartment and he would work at his dad’s office. In fact, this summer, he was most likely get his own internship at the company. 

Some of his past teachers seemed to be disappointed in this plan. He couldn’t see why. It was a nice, solid plan. 

“Yes, we can see that, but, you see Logan, that’s the most boring life plan I have ever heard.”

“For some reason, I am not at all surprised you are the one to say that, Roman.”

“Actually, I’m on board with Roman,” Patton says, hesitantly, “It’s good you have a plan! But you could be more.”

That makes Logan pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re smart, Logan! But you’re also determined and strong and passionate! There’s so much you can do with all that, so much you can be, and just squashing all that into a cubicle day in and day out seems like…,” Patton trails off.

“Why Computer Science?” Virgil asks.

“It’s a very profitable field, and the job market for it is expanding. I have connections in it already-”

“Booooo,” Roman says. 

“Pump the brakes, Roman,” Dr. Sanders steps in, “Supportive environment.”

“And I support any dream Logan chooses to chase,” Roman says, “But he is not reaching for the stars. He’s climbing to the top of the ladder.”

“If that’s what Logan chooses to do with his life, that’s fine.”

“But that’s not fun…,” Patton frowns. 

“There will be plenty of time for fun at the end of the work day,” Logan really does not see why this is so upsetting to them. 

“I am curious, though,” Dr. Sanders says, “of the other possibilities you came up with, Logan.”

“Oh. Those. The fantasies.”

“The dreams!”

“In another world, I would go into Chemical Engineering, specifically so I could help protect the rainforest.”

“That’s better!” Roman cries, and no one even flinches. Apparently they’re getting used to his outbursts, “Now that’s a dream!”

“I do not need a dream, I need a plan. The other dream would be either an astronaut, to work in an observatory, or a planetarium. I couldn’t decide.”

“Interesting, why those three?” Thomas asks.

“Well, I love the space. The stars, the planets, the unknown and the awareness that we are so small and insignificant when looking at the big picture. We can’t even imagine what is out there. To be an astronaut, to walk among the stars, to see what few other have seen and to truly experience it beyond pictures, would be incredible but it’s highly unlikely. For the observatory, it combines my love of space and my love of data. For the planetarium, it would involve me being able to, as some say, geek out about space,” he cuts off his ramble as he notices everyone is staring at him, “What?”

“You have a lot to say about space,” Patton says.

“Some might say, more than you have to say about your so-called life goal.”

Logan turns to Virgil, “Do you think they hear what I’m saying and are purposefully ignoring it or do you think it just goes right over their head?”

Virgil smirks but shakes his head inside his hood. “Sorry, Logan, I’m with them,” he holds his hands up in surrender when Logan scowls at him, “Logan, space is cool. Office jobs are for the man. I fight the man. I don’t wanna fight you.”

“I suppose that’s a compliment,” Logan says, “I do appreciate all of your...thoughts on my life, but I must insist that they’re unnecessary. Now, can someone else, please…?”

“Roman, you talked a lot about dreams, what are yours?” Dr. Sanders asks.

“Well, I obviously couldn’t choose just three! There are so many things. I want to be an actor, a playwright, the voice of a Disney Prince, to be a Disney Prince at Disneyland-”

“I supposed that’s a realistic goal. If you squint,” Logan interrupts.

“I am not _dumb_. I know I need realistic goals. Some of them include being a Theater teacher, perhaps a cop, to protect the community, an athlete-”

“I didn’t know you played sports, Roman,” Thomas says.

Logan and Patton share a knowing look as Roman pales. Virgil is lost. 

“Ummm, well, this was about what we _wanted_ , was it not? And I _want_ to be a sports star...but, well-”

“Roman isn’t good at sports,” Logan cuts him off.

“Wow. The theater kid isn’t good at sports? Shocking,” Virgil says, but he pauses when Roman suddenly hunches in on himself.

“Aw, it’s okay, kiddo,” Patton rushes in, “At least you tried! And I’m sure if you practiced you’d be better.”

“I _did_ practice,” Roman mumbles. 

“Roman are you...upset? I know you were on the football team, briefly, but I assumed it was unimportant,” Logan says.

Roman snorts, “No, my father was a high school football star who volunteered as a coach in the children’s leagues, my brother is a legend among the school’s wrestling team, my other brother scored the winning goal at the homecoming game twice, and my third brother has taken over both sports seasons. Why would sports be important to me?” He rubs his temples, “Do you know how many people I disappointed by not being good at sports?”

“I’m sure that’s not true!” Patton says, “You’re one of the greatest actors in the theater department!”

“I’m one of the only actors in the department-”

“Roman, I’m sure your parents are unaware that they’re hurting you by placing so much emphasis on something as unimportant as sports.”

Roman almost breaks into hysterical laughter at the thought of calling sports “unimportant” in his house. He looks across the circle at Virgil, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean, the fact they care so much is stupid. Very stupid. And I don’t trust anyone who peaked in high school, it’s just sad,” Virgil says, “But...my dad has gotten angry at me over minor things, too. So. Even if it doesn’t seem serious, it definitely feels serious, and that...that really sucks. Roman. I’m sorry.”

Roman pauses, then nods. He turns to Patton. 

“What about you, Pat?”

“Oh, well, I just really want to be a stay at home dad!” Patton says. 

“And what draws you to that?” his therapist asks, “Are you close to your dad?”

“Oh, I don’t know my dad,” Patton shrugs, “My parents gave me up when I was younger. I was adopted when I was three.”

There’s a brief silence, before Patton rushes to fill it. 

“It’s fine, really! I don’t remember it, and I was adopted by my moms, who are- _were_ really great!”

“Why ‘were’?”

“Oh, well...my mom died when I was seven.” And saying it still sends Patton into an emotional whirlpool, but he smiles wider and hopes no one notices. But by the way Virgil is looking at him, he does. “Shoot, didn’t mean to bring the group down-”

“We’re in group _therapy_ -” Logan starts but Patton plows on.

“Anyway, my moms were just so loving, to each other and to me. It was like I moved to a real home, you know? Like there was warmth that went through me down into my heart. Sometimes I take it for granted, but most of the time I just wish everyone could feel as loved as I do. And I feel like no matter which way I do it, I want that love to be the goal,” Patton continues, “And even when looking at other possibilities, I still want to do that. I want to be a kindergarten teacher or work for the foster care system.”

“That’s...really beautiful, Patton,” Virgil says.

“Aw, thanks, but I don’t need to babble anymore. What about you, Virge?”

“Eh. I still don’t really have many goals, but...I’d either want to be a poet, a novelist, or settle for something simple, like working at a guitar shop or a coffee shop.”

“Never settle!”

“Calm down, Princey, I’m working on it.”

“And while you’re welcome to share your goals with us at any time, we unfortunately don’t have time to dive into it today,” Thomas says, looking at his watch. “Until next time, guys.”

^

Virgil doesn’t turn on the cold water in his shower. Instead, he lets his skin boil as he scratches across his shoulder and his collarbone.

Virgil bites the inside of his cheek until it starts to bleed, then he moves his finger into his mouth and bites down on it instead. 

Virgil snaps rubber bands against his wrist, but none of it is helping.

He knows his aunt is noticing her missing knives, but they were so sharp and shiny that they were practically impossible to ignore. 

All he could think about was therapy. How everyone had goals, had plans, had passions. He had nothing. He didn’t even know if he could ever get his back. And even if he did, he’d have to get good at it. 

_I’m not good at anything._

When he left his house, he hadn’t packed all his clothes, but that pillow case he had stashed away on the shelf in his closet, that was the most important thing he had to bring to his aunt’s. It held two pairs of scissors and a few blades.

People assumed he was a self-harmer because he always wore his black hoodie. But that wasn’t it. His arms were clean. His scars were safely tucked under his shirts and jeans. Little nicks in between his ribs. A few slashes across his hips. Some long scratches across his leg. 

What do you want to be in the future?

 _A poet. A novelist. A person who doesn’t cut._

_Welp,_ he thought, pulling his shirt up as he grabbed the knife, _Guess we’re taking a step back today._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just so you guys know, if you're ever in any kind of crisis, you can text HOME to 741741. You can visit crisistextline.com for more information. 
> 
> I know this fic deals with some serious issues that others may be dealing with as well so every once in a while I'll try and throw in a resource or two.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of disordered eating habits, bullying

“Logan…? Are you trying to...untangle your spaghetti?”

Logan glanced up at his mother before going back to his plate.

“Yes,” he said, unphased, pulling another noodle from the pile on his plate. He uses his fork and knife to stretch it out straight across his plate. It lines up almost perfectly with about fifteen other noodles.

His dad sighed. “Are you actually going to _eat it_ after you do that?”

Logan paused.

“Maybe.”

His mom and dad look across the table at each other. Usually they were accepting of their son’s...quirks, but this? This might have been too far.

“Logan? Could you maybe just _eat the damn spaghetti?_ ” Kurt Crofter asks, wondering when exactly his son had become...this, and why he wasn’t back to normal yet.

“I would like to,” Logan says, stretching another strand across his plate, “But I have to do this first.”

“You have to?”

“Yes.”

Kurt looked over at his wife again, this time in desperation. Madelyn Crofter decided it was time to use her best coping skill: denial.

“So, honey, are you nervous about school tomorrow?”

“Not particularly. I hope some of the course material proves to be at least a bit challenging, since they are, in theory, supposed to be college-level.” 

“And your electives? Are you excited for those?”

“Did you sign up for the computer course like I suggested?” Kurt asks. He sees his son hesitate for a just a second, and he narrows his eyes slightly, “Logan?”

“Well, I actually decided to take Psychology.”

“Why?” 

“My therapist keeps throwing around terms and such that I don’t understand. I’d like to know how my-” Logan hesitates. “I’d like to know, chemically, how my brain is working, and why it’s different from others. I...think it would help. Plus, as you know, I am not used to not understanding.”

“Logan, this is a minor glitch in your overall life. In a few years, you may not even remember it,” his dad tells him, “Yet you want to put your career on hold due to it?”

“See, I would understand forgetting if it was a one or two appointment approach like we originally assumed it would be. But I have been in treatment for about eight months and it doesn’t seem to be ending any time soon, so I couldn’t-”

“Wait, why is it not stopping soon?” Madelyn asks, “How long are you going to be doing this? Will you be able to concentrate on school?”

“I entered treatment while I was in school, so I would assume-”

“Yeah, but now you’re going into junior year, Logan, do you know how important this year is for college?” Kurt asks.

“You have made that clear,” Logan mutters, and now the pile is completely stretched out on his plate, every piece lined up in a row. But it’s still not good enough. Carefully, Logan raises his knife and cuts the first noodle into thirds. 

Irritated, his dad stands up and goes to the sink, getting rid of his own plate. 

“Honey?” his mom asks. 

“ _You_ deal with it,” he growls, heading upstairs. 

Madelyn sighs, turning back to her son, who is concentrating on his plate. 

“Don’t you think it’d be easier to just...cut them all at once?”

“I can’t do that.”

She looks up at the ceiling. Okay. Back to denial.

“What about your friends? Are you excited to see them?”

“I’ve told you multiple times. I do not have friends. I do not want friends. I do not need friends.”

“What about the boys in your...what was it...group? Group therapy?”

Logan pauses. He supposes, technically, he could call Patton, Roman, and Virgil friends. It was an interesting situation, because they had access to some of his best kept secrets, and he had theirs, but he didn’t have much more information. They would be at school tomorrow. Probably even Virgil, since he mentioned he was transferring. That...might change this year. Just slightly. 

^

Who wanted to die?

Virgil didn’t even mean that in an angsty way. He meant it in a someone-is-texting-me-at-five-in-the-morning-on-my-first-day-of-a-new-school-and-therefore-clearly-has-a-death-wish way. His phone had not stopped buzzing on his night stand.

A smart person, he realized, would just reach over and silence it. But he knew once he had the phone in his hand, he’d get curious and actually read the damn things. Well. Time to stop fighting it. 

Virgil picked up his phone, hissing when the phone’s light shone in his eyes. 

_Hey._

_I’m assuming you’re still pissed at me, since you haven’t texted. And that’s fine._

_I guess._

_I just had to do something, V. I was scared for you. I wish I could say I’m sorry._

Virgil groaned. It was too damn early for feelings. 

_I am sorry for breaking your trust though._

_Anyway. That’s not what this text is about. I meant to just text you and tell you good luck at your new school._

_Congrats, you got out of this place._

_And don’t worry about me. I know you worry about everything and everyone, but I have Kai and Lauren to watch out for me now. Also I’m still broken up with Mitchell._

Virgil still doesn’t respond, but he can see that Elliott is still typing on their side. 

_I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry and I’m not I know your aunt is taking better care of you and I did the right thing I think but sometimes I don’t know and I just want you to be happy and I hope you are. I’ve tried asking Picani how you are, to just see if you’re still alive and at your aunt’s, but that breaks confidentiality, so_

_That was a ramble. I’m sorry._

_I’m going to go before I make things worse._

_But I miss you. And I hope you text me back, eventually._

Virgil is tempted, he really is. Partly because of what Elliot said, partly because they got up at five to text it to him. They haven’t spoken to each other in two months, and Elliott is right, Virgil has been worrying about them. 

But there’s still something that stings whenever he thinks of what happened. He knows, deep down, that it wasn’t their fault, and if they swapped places Virgil would have done the exact same thing. He should be the bigger person and text them saying he forgives them. 

Instead, he turns off his phone.

^

Logan freezes at the entrance of his English classroom. 

He hadn’t seen the other three all morning, and for a second it felt just like every other year. Yet, there Virgil was, sitting in a desk, headphones in and eyes closed, just like the first day of group. 

The problem was that it was only now occurring to Logan that they had never discussed their interactions in the “real world.” How had they missed that? Most likely because they hadn’t hit school yet, but still. It really should have come up. What if Virgil didn’t want to talk to him? What if they all had their own friends? What if being around each other just made their disorders worse? What if-

Virgil cracked one of his eyes open, and looked directly at Logan. They stared at each other a bit, before Virgil jerked his head to the side, nodding at the empty seat next to him. Oh. Okay then. 

Logan slid into it as Virgil popped his headphones out.

“You know, I didn’t know the teachers allowed you to have those.”

“They allow you to have anything as long as you don’t get caught.”

“Ah. I see,” Logan paused, “So I can ask a question that some may consider to be ‘blunt’?” 

Virgil raises an eyebrows, “Go ahead.”

“You claimed you were not smart, yet you are in AP English.”

“Yeah, I’m just as confused about it as you are. I don’t know, I had to take these tests so they knew what classes to put me in, and when I got my schedule, they had stuck me here. And my aunt was too excited to do anything.”

“Well, yes, it is an exciting thing.”

“I can tell, you seem to be jumping for joy.”

Just then, the bell rang, and their teacher walked to the front. 

“Hello, everyone,” A woman with red-framed glasses greeted them, “I’m Mrs. Spencer, and I will be your teacher this year.”

^

Logan picks up his books and carefully slides them back into the bag. He and Virgil didn’t get a chance to talk during the class, but he’s wondering if he’s made plans for lunch already. He usually spends it in the library helping the librarian organize, but he figures it’s time to start actually eating at lunch, and he’d prefer not to do it alone. He glances over at Virgil, just to see his slumped over on his desk.

“Uh, Virgil?”

“I can’t _do this_ , I am _stupid._ ”

“You know, you keep saying that, I’m not sure I believe you.”

Virgil turns his head slightly, just enough so he can hiss at Logan. 

“I’m sorry, did he just hiss at you?” their teacher says, coming over cautiously. Most of the class has cleared out by now, already rushing down to the cafeteria. 

“Yes. But it’s okay, not very unusual.”

“O...kay,” Mrs. Spencer starts to say something else, but she’s interrupted by someone shouting her name. 

“Mrs. Spencer!” Virgil and Logan look up to see Roman walk through the door, “You will not _believe-_ ” he cuts himself off, “Oh. Hey guys.”

“Shouldn’t you be at the cafeteria?” Virgil asks. 

“Oh, uh, this is actually the room I eat in. If that’s still okay,” he rushes to add, looking over at his former teacher. She nods and he relaxes. 

“Are your friends joining us?” she says, looking at Logan and Virgil. 

“I, uh…,” Roman is going to say no, because why would they want to eat with him? But he’s going to take a wild guess and say they hate the cafeteria as much as he does, so instead he just raises his eyebrows and says, “Do you guys want to?”

“Yes,” Logan says, quickly, not giving himself time to overanalyze. 

Virgil sighs, “Sure. But first, we should see if we can find Patton.”

^

It’s fine!

Everything’s fine! It’s fine that he stayed up too late last night bingeing! It’s fine that his yearbook friends didn’t have enough room at their table! It’s fine that they keep glancing over their shoulders to look at him with pity from the table over! It’s fine that he hasn’t found Roman or Logan or Virgil!

They wouldn’t want to sit here anyway. 

And that’s fine! It’s really, really-

“Hey Fatton!” 

And Patton freezes, like ice water has been poured down his spine. Okay. It might not be fine. 

Cameron Burk slides in across from him. One of his friends plops in next to Patton so he’s blocked in. He forces a smile on to his face. No, it’s going to be fine. 

“Hey, guys. How’s the first day going?” Because he can’t be mean. He can’t be mad at them for saying what everyone else is saying. 

Cameron laughs. 

“Oh, it’s great _Fat_ ton,” and Patton forces himself not to flinch. He wishes for that name to go away, but it’s followed him since middle school, resurrected every year by none other than Cameron himself, “Why are you all alone, hm?”

“He’s not.”

Cameron practically jumps out of his seat, whirling around. He’s met with an icy glare that cuts through him. Who...who the fuck was that?

“Who the fuck are you?” Cameron stands up. At his full height, he towers over this kid, but he just raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. 

“I’m Virgil. I’d ask who the fuck are you, but it’s irrelevant.”

Patton glances between the two as Cameron’s friend laughs next to him. That earns him a glare. 

“I’m Cameron fucking Bu-”

Virgil presses a finger to his lips, and it catches him off guard enough that he actually shuts up.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time,” Virgil bares his teeth in a smile, a warning, “I don’t _fucking care_ about who you are. But I do care about you staying the fuck away from my friend.”

Charles furrows his eyebrows, before glancing behind him at Patton. He looks back at Virgil, in his black, ripped skinny jeans, black hoodie, with his purple hair.

“...friend?”

“Yes, friend.” But that’s a new voice, coming from...Roman Prince?

What the fuck is going on?

Patton is standing up now, walking over to the two. 

“You know, guys, maybe we should go.”

“Good idea,” Virgil says, but he and Cameron are still glaring at each other. Patton puts a hand on Virgil’s elbow, and guides him away, following Roman. 

Roman pauses, “Don’t forget your lunch, Patton.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Spencer is Dot from Cartoon Therapy. I mentioned her name like once in the previous chapter, so I figured I'd point it out :)
> 
> Leave me nice comments to read on my break, they make me smile!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: self-deprecating thoughts and purging (skip last section, after "but it might be okay for a while.")

This is almost as awkward as the first session. 

The four of them sat down, with their desks pushed together to make a small, makeshift table. They were slowly realizing how little they knew about each other. What were they even supposed to talk about? 

They were all very determined not to look at each other’s food, though, and commenting on it was definitely not an option, which already made this better than sitting out in the cafeteria.

Dot Spencer was still keeping a close eye on them, though, since two of them had brought in lunches that were as small as Roman’s and the third was becoming reluctant to eat anything. 

“So, Virgil, you’re new this year right?” she asks, trying to fill some of the silence.

“Yep.”

“Then how do you guys know each other?”

All four heads snap up and look at each other. 

“Shit,” Virgil says, “we might have to figure out that story.”

“The actual answer,” Roman says to her, “is we met at group therapy. But no one else needs to know that.”

Dot maintains her professional composure, even though she’s really tempted to squeal. 

“Is that in addition to your individual therapy, Roman?” 

“It is.”

“That’s fantastic!” she smiles, “And it’s really great that you all are trying to be there for each other.”

 _Too much,_ Virgil thinks, _too much attention, too much positivity._

But, thankfully, after that she backs off, going to her own lunch.

“Maybe people will just assume we met the first day,” Logan says.

“Uh...that might not be as believable,” Virgil says.

“Why not?”

“Because Virgil was ready to punch someone out for Patton after what would be half a day,” Roman explains. 

“He was not going to punch Cameron,” Patton says, but he notices that Virgil is now avoiding eye contact, “...you weren’t going to punch Cameron, right?”

“The important thing is that I didn’t _need_ to punch Cameron.”

“Cameron? Cameron Burk?” Logan shakes his head, “Wait, what is going on?”

“Virgil and I went to the lunchroom, ready to retrieve our dear friend Patton-”

“Then we heard someone call him a name, I told him to back off, we had a staring contest and we all walked away.”

“Okay, first of all, rude, I was preparing to tell the tale properly with as much as theatricality as it deserved-”

“I know you were, Princey, that’s why I stepped in.”

“And second of all, you were dragged away.”

“I was _not-_ ”

Logan looked over at Patton, who was staring at his food. Logan always found it hard not to notice other people’s eating habits. It wasn’t as if he was judging them, it was just his observant nature. He tried not to do it here, because it felt like an invasion of privacy, in a way, but he still picked up on things. And it was hard not to notice that Patton was struggling to eat anything right now. Was this why?

Meanwhile, Patton was staring at the bag his lunch came in and not thinking. He was not thinking about how he had spent this past summer starving. He not thinking about how he had spent last night puking until blood came up. He was not thinking about the calories sitting on the table in front of him.

He doesn’t think about how none of it was good enough. He’s still Fatton. 

_Maybe it’s time to starve again. It wouldn’t-_

“Patton, are you going to eat your sandwich?”

Patton jerks his head up, and automatically the smile is back on his face, “Sorry, spacing out a little there! I’m actually not that-”

“Don’t,” Logan cuts him off, “I wasn’t actually asking. I was trying to think of a polite way to say ‘you need to eat your sandwich’.”

Patton’s smile falls as Virgil and Roman turn away from their bickering to look at him. 

“I don’t _need_ to eat,” Patton practically whispers. 

“Falsehood,” Logan says, “You-”

“Don’t,” Patton pushes his hands against his ears, “Just-I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

And he doesn’t look at them, because he knows he’s letting them down. They don’t need to see him acting like a child, yet here he is, like a little-

“What about half?”

Patton looks up at Logan, through the tears in his eyes, “What?”

Logan is bracing himself, “Half of it. And...I’ll eat the other half. So you don’t feel alone. If it’ll help….I don’t know how this works.”

Mrs. Spencer is chewing her food slowly, ready to step in if need be. But Patton slowly pulls his sandwich apart and passes one half over to Logan. Virgil and Roman look away so that they’re not staring as they both take a bite.

Logan’s eyes go wide and after he swallows he asks, “Is this Crofter’s?”

“Uh-yeah. You mentioned it in the session and when we went shopping, I picked some up out of curiosity. It’s really good.”

The first thing in Logan’s mind is his mom’s face when she was looking at the calories. But the second thing is the thought that Patton-or his mom, whoever made the sandwich-actually made it with enough jelly for Logan, and honestly, that was an impressive feat. 

It wasn’t easy, for either of them. Patton was too aware of every bit of sweetness passing his lips as Cameron’s voice echoed in his mind. Logan’s mind was focused on numbers, sugars, calories, and carbs. But Roman and Virgil went back to talking, trying to keep a steady conversation to tune out the voices they knew their friends were hearing in their heads. 

It didn’t completely work. But it was something. 

“You know, my room is always open to anyone who needs it,” Mrs. Spencer speaks up as they clean up at the end of lunch, “The only rule is that you have to eat something.”

^

“What do you _mean?!”_

Roman is trying not to cause a scene, but honestly? He’s probably failing. His breathing is too fast and his voice is too loud. He can tell by the way his gym teacher, who everyone calls Coach, glances over his shoulder. 

“Sorry, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Coach, look at me, I’m fine-”

“Roman. They gave me a doctor’s note saying you’re not allowed to participate in gym. There is nothing I can do, legally.”

“But-”

“Enough.”

“Then what am I supposed to _do?”_

“That, uh, that I don’t know,” Coach says, rubbing the back of his neck, “they’re trying to get something set up for you, but it’s not ready yet. For now, just sit in the bleachers.”

Roman wants to fight, and he might actually have to fight Picani over this, but he doesn’t want to do it in front of everyone in gym class. He could only imagine how that would go. He could imagine the rumors now, and the rumors would get back to Philip, who would tell his dad, who would demand to know what the hell he was doing and why couldn’t he do gym class anymore? Nope. Quietly sulking in the bleachers it is. 

He’s starting to completely check out, going into “Daydream mode,” as he calls it, when he hears footsteps coming up to sit next to him. He jerks himself back to reality.

“Specs!”

“Salutations, Roman,” Logan says, “I didn’t know you were in this class.”

“Well, I _was,_ ” Roman says, gesturing dramatically to the bleachers, “But now I’m stuck up here. I’m guessing they sent you up here for the same reason.”

“Because of a doctor? Yes,” Logan adjusts his glasses, “Though I’m going to guess that I am much less distraught than you.”

“Probably. Because I am very, _very_ distraught,” Roman leans back and groans. 

“Tell me, is it a conscious choice to be this dramatic or does it just come naturally?”

“It comes naturally,” Roman replies, easily, “And honestly? Who am I to deny the world this magnificence?”

Logan blinks. “Wow. If I didn’t know you, that would be convincing.”

“What can I say? I’ve perfected the act.”

There’s a brief silence before Roman says, “Hey Logan?”

“Yes?”

“How exactly are we supposed to have a normal conversation?”

“Well, first we start with a topic, then the other will respond-”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?”

Logan turns to him, perfectly concealing a smirk, as he leans back, “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

They’re both leaning back, watching their class down below. Roman would honestly rather be running alongside them, but it might be okay up here for a while.

^

Patton wakes up at 11:52 on the dot. He always wakes up between 11:45 and 12:10, his body is so accustomed to his late night binges. He still sets an alarm on rough days, days when he knows he’s going to sneak down to the kitchen. 

He knew today was going to be a rough day. The first day always was, but it was solidified the second Cameron had slid in across from him. His mom had actually offered to let him switch to homeschooling when she first found out about his disorder. 

“Anything that’s going to help you, Patton, we can do.”

But Patton didn’t deserve help.

He didn’t deserve his mom’s worried looks. Sometimes he was tempted to tell her to just give up, he was never getting better. He was waiting for the day she realized she made a mistake all those years ago when they brought him to their home. They had so much kindness to give, and he was only filled with bitterness and could only offer disappointment. 

_I deserve nothing._

He didn’t deserve Virgil. He deserved Cameron’s words, because Cameron was the only one brave enough to say anything to his face. He knew his classmates were whispering behind his back, offering him shallow, plastic smiles to his face. Besides, anything Cameron said paled in comparison when it came to what he told himself. He could handle it. But Virgil deserved happiness, and to actually enjoy his new school. Yet he had tried to come to his rescue, and now he had made himself a target on the first day. 

_I’m not worth it._

He knew how hard it was for Logan to eat. He had watched him work up the courage to even offer. He shouldn’t have made him do it, he should have sucked it up and ate it himself, it wasn’t like he couldn’t make it come back up later. But Patton was selfish. He put his own needs, his pathetic need to eat ahead of what Logan needed. What if Patton just made it worse?

 _I am making it worse._

His friends, his family, they cared so much. For now. 

_They should see you now._

Patton knew it was gross. He had his forehead leaning against the rim of the toilet, and he was sweating. He forced himself to stand up and moved to the sink, grabbing his toothbrush. He had gotten rid of the evidence as soon as he could, since his mom still didn’t know he never stopped, but he could still taste on his breath. 

_You’re disgusting._

Tears were stinging his eyes as he scrubbed his teeth. His gums were starting to sting. He had a habit of brushing too hard at night, and he never gave his mouth a chance to properly heal. His teeth were becoming sensitive, but he never eased up. 

He finally stopped, more so because he knew he had to get back to the kitchen and clean up the wrappers and get rid of any sign that he’d been down there. He rinsed his mouth out. He didn’t dare look at himself in the mirror. He knew if he did, if he saw his bloodshot eyes and bloated cheeks, he’d just start crying. 

He dragged himself out into the kitchen, the words he’d whispered to himself repeating in his head. It was so clear to him, yet no one seemed to notice just how _disgusting unworthy awful_ he was. 

But one day they would, he knew it. And that day was going to hurt like hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....I'm sorry.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: self deprecating thoughts, disordered eating

“What the fuck, Dr. Picani?” 

“Hi to you too, Roman,” Emile smiles at his client as he sits down, “I’m going to take a wild guess and say this is about gym class.”

“I think you mean my _lack_ of gym class,” Roman says, “Are you the one who wrote a note saying I couldn’t participate?”

“Yep.”

He is slightly taken aback by how flippant his therapist’s response was. “But _why_?”

“I’ve told you before, Roman, we need to work on your exercising addiction. Putting you in a situation where you are encouraged to indulge in unhealthy habits wouldn’t be beneficial, to you or your recovery.”

“Can you even really _be_ addicted to exercise?”

“Yes,” Dr. Picani says, firmly, “You can be addicted to exercise. You can be addicted to starving, bingeing, or purging.”

“But exercise is _good_ for you.”

“In moderation, and as long as your body is fueled properly. But you were letting your exercise regimen control your life, and you were denying it fuel.”

“Thanks, I remember,” Roman groans, “But it would be controlled in gym!”

“Mmm, so your coaches wouldn’t push you because they’re used to you going the extra mile? They wouldn’t expect more from you or ask why you’re “slacking off”? You wouldn’t feel pressured from them?”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” he pauses, “What if I’m just, like, really careful?”

“Let me ask you this. If I had an alcoholic patient, and they wanted to go to the bar, but said they would be “really careful”-they would even pinky promise, should I let them go?”

“....yes.”

“Wow, that was really unconvincing. C’mon, you’re an actor.”

“Hey, I’ve been off for three months, give me a while.”

“Are you planning on getting back into it?”

Roman bites his lip. He has a passion for theater, he always has. But lately, he can’t stand the idea of having all those eyes on him, judging him, and the people in the department weren’t exactly supportive. 

“I...don’t know. I have the class, still, so I know what shows are coming up,” Roman wrinkles his nose, “They’re doing Beauty and the Beast.”

“Ah, is that a favorite of yours?”

“No, that’s more along the lines of Aladdin. But honestly? I don’t like doing all the Disney musicals in general. We had so many options this year-Seussical, Charlie Brown, Heathers-”

“You really think they’d let a high school do Heathers?”

“Let me dream!”

“Okay, okay, sorry. So, interesting shows, but instead they went with…”

“The classic fairytale. And every classic fairytale needs a classic prince, and the closest thing they have is this Prince.”

“Is that a problem?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just-” Roman frowns, “I got into Theater to step outside of who I am, to break a sort of mold my family made for me, but lately...they just put me into a new mold. And, yeah, this one fits better, but it’s still a mold.”

“I see. So you think your friends from the theater department have trouble differentiating who you are from who you play?”

“I mean...basically. You wouldn’t believe how many girls have a crush on me, even though they _know_ I’m gay.”

“That must be hard for you.”

“Hard?”

“Well sure,” Dr. Picani says, “Having such a big part of your identity, one that took you some time to accept, denied, it can be really troubling.”

“I, uh,” Roman pauses, looking at the floor, “I guess I never really thought of it. I just figured I was making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Really? Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s what my dad said-” he pauses as Dr. Picani frowns, “It’s not a big deal, really.”

“Sure,” his therapist says as he writes. _Roman continues to brush things off as “not a big deal” when they are A Very Big Deal._

“Did your dad say this in direct relation to your theater friends not accepting you? Or about something else?”

“If you haven’t noticed, Picani, I tend to be a dramatic guy. My family just gets a little tired of it sometimes.” His therapist quirks an eyebrow, and Roman sighs. “Okay, so when I came out? Back in middle school? My dad was very...quiet about it. Like, he didn’t respond much at all. And because he was so quiet, I assumed he was mad at me. So I spent the entire week working myself up and internally freaking out, and I finally work up the courage to go up to him and ask him if he’s mad at me, and he told me I was being stupid, that not everything is as big a deal as I make it out to be.”

Picani frowns, “How’d that make you feel?” 

Roman frowns, concentrating on the ground, “Good...I...guess? Like just because he didn’t respond the way I wanted him too doesn’t mean he didn’t care, and he wasn’t mad at me, so that’s good,” Roman pauses, “What?”

“We haven’t talked at length about your family,” his therapist says, “But if you, as his child, go to him and ask for a more expressive sign of acceptance, he should be willing, as your father, to do that.”

“Oh, he’s willing to, he just doesn’t want to,” Roman pauses, realizing how that sounds, “But it’s fine! I-I don’t need him to. I’m fine, really.”

Dr. Picani smiles, and Roman smiles back, relieved that the conversation is over.

“So, tell me about the rest of your week,” Picani says, tilting his notebook to him so he can write _monitor Roman’s relationship to family._

^

“Happy first week of schooooool!” Picani sings out as he enters the room for group therapy. He sits down and pulls a mini confetti popper from his pocket. He pulls the string and a clump of confetti flies into the center of the circle.

Logan sighs. Someday, maybe, he will understand this man. Virgil looks at him from the corner of his eye and smirks. 

“While school is rather exciting,” Logan says, “It is no reason for unnecessary celebration.”

“But it’s the little things we should remember to celebrate!” Dr. Picani says, excitedly, “And that makes it completely necessary!”

“...sure. I guess,” Logan replies.

“So, first week of school! New classes, new adventures, so is it starting off like a new Stevenbomb, full of excitement, or like the new season of Spongebob, where you just wish it would end already?”

“I always wish school would end,” Virgil says.

“Aw, being at the new school isn’t helping?” Dr. Picani asks him.

“No,” Virgil responds automatically, but then he thinks about lunch time, about teachers who actually know his name, about material he’s actually interested in, “...maybe a little.”

“Oh?”

Virgil just nods, not bringing anything else up. 

“So, what about everyone else? Roman, did you want to tell everyone about the Theater department?”

“Oh, they already know, doc.”

Dr. Picani pauses and looks up from his notebook.

“We’ve been eating lunch together,” Roman says, “That’s...okay, right?”

“Well, yes, as long as you guys are eating together. Sometimes when two people who are suffering are around each other, they influence each other negatively. As in, instead of encouraging recovery, you would encourage unhealthy eating habits in each other.”

Patton’s eyes go wide. Encourage…? But he wanted his friends to get better! He may have deserved everything he was going through, but they sure didn’t!

Looking around, it seemed like everyone else had similar thoughts.

“I think I speak for everyone when I say that’s not going to happen,” Logan says, clearing his throat. 

“Besides, we have a babysitter, don’t worry,” Virgil tells Picani.

“A teacher allows us to eat in her room, as long as we actually eat,” Roman clarifies. 

“Oh good!” their therapist chirps, “But if we see an increase in behaviors, we will intervene.”

They all hum, seeming to agree that’s fair. Patton hunches in on himself, just slightly, hoping no one notices. 

“So I guess you two have to catch me up,” Dr. Picani says, referring to Logan and Patton, “How are your weeks going?”

“Good!” Patton responds automatically, and Virgil is giving him that _look_ again. Inside, he panics. He’s always been so good at brushing off suspicion, why does it not work for Virgil?

It’s clearly also not working for Dr. Picani either, because he smiles and presses on, “And why’s that Patton?”

“Oh, my classes are pretty great! All my teachers are really nice!” Okay, now Picani is giving him that look. Dammit, why was he so bad at this all of sudden? Brushing it off, he sighs, “And...I guess I’m just glad I don’t have to eat lunch alone anymore. It’s a...brighter spot in my day than it used to be.”

“You ate lunch alone?” Virgil asks.

Patton nods. “I mean, I was at a table with some yearbook people, but they never talked to me. It was just them being nice.” _Because they couldn’t stand to look at how pathetic you were._ “And sometimes I used to eat in the library.” 

“I was in a similar situation,” Logan speaks up, “Except I would go around the school offering to do some of the teacher’s errands. They were typically so grateful they wouldn’t question my lack of lunch.”

“Guess you never ran into Mrs. Spencer during that,” Roman says, “that would not fly with her.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

They look at Virgil, who sighs. “I used to eat with my friend, Elliott, but they had this real douchebag of a boyfriend who I hated. And near the end…,” he shakes his head, “Anyway, I used to sneak out the back and hide behind the school during lunch.”

“The end of what?” Emile asks. 

“The end of...I don’t know, it. The end of me going to that school, of me living with my dad, the end of-” He stops himself. 

“Virgil?”

“The end of our friendship.”

“Whoa,” Roman says, “They must have really pissed you off.”

“They did,” Virgil doesn’t want to say it, but before he can stop himself, he continues, “It’s their fault I’m here in the first place. They broke my trust,” he winces, “Or whatever.”

The question hangs in the air. _What did they do?_ But none of the boys want to ask, and Emile knows Virgil’s not ready to say. 

“Anyway,” Virgil shakes his head, “Shouldn’t you say something about your week, Logan?”

“I am simply satisfactory,” Logan says, shrugging, “My classes seem to be enough of a challenge to be intellectually stimulating, but are not too much pressure. I do not have any obnoxious classmates that come to mind immediately. As previously stated, my lunch is better,” Logan lists off. 

“That’s great!” Dr. Picani says, “I think one thing you need to remember, Logan, is that we are here to not only deal with any problems, but to celebrate our victories as well.”

“Victories?” Logan says, then adds, “In that case, there is a small…I mean, I have actually started adding jelly to my sandwiches again.” It’s half a tablespoon for half a sandwich, which his taste buds tell him is not enough meanwhile his eating disorder is saying it’s too much. But still. It’s a start.

“That’s fantastic!” Dr. Picani says, and the other three are smiling at him. He suddenly shrinks under the attention. He’s not used to people being so...proud, especially over something so minor.

Because Roman, Patton, and Virgil have seen it. They’ve seen how Logan can only eat half of a sandwich, and then he eats two celery sticks, and he has to break them into quarters before they’re okay to eat. Granted, they don’t say anything, but they must think it’s weird.

_Because it is weird, you’re weird, why can’t you just-_

“How are you doing about your lack of gym class?” Dr. Picani asks, jerking him back to reality.

“It’s fine,” Logan says. He doesn’t talk about how the numbers are still constantly in his head. The numbers he ate at lunch, the ones that are then sitting in his stomach, as he watches his peers run around on the track, already knowing the exact number they’re burning, how much they would burn if they altered it slowly. 

Dr. Picani puts a little star by that. These boys are not as good at lying as they think they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, we are at chapter ten and the response to this story has been?? So amazing?? Like I appreciate all of you and your comments so, so much. 
> 
> Second, this is a bit late because over on my tumblr (timeoutforthee), I'm doing a thirty one day prompt challenge, so updates may be a bit off.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: unsupportive people, denial, invalidating your feelings, therapy

“Roman! A word?”

Roman turns away from the door and walks back to his teacher, Mr. Hurley. “Yes?”

“I noticed you weren’t at auditions yesterday,” he starts and Roman takes a deep breath. Yesterday, while all his friends were singing their heart out, he was in therapy with Dr. Picani. And during therapy, he had made a decision. One his drama teacher-slash-director would not appreciate. 

“Yeah, about that....,” his teacher raises an eyebrow, “I’m not doing Beauty and the Beast.”

_“...what?”_

“You know, I’ve been having all sorts of health issues lately, and I think it would be best if I stepped back for a while,” Roman recites, perfectly, just as he and his therapist practiced.

“You look fine to me!” his teacher says, which is one of the responses they had planned for. 

“Not all illnesses are visible.”

Mr. Hurley sighs and rubs his temples. 

“What am I supposed to do for the Beast?”

Roman winces. He knows his director doesn’t mean anything by it, that it might even be a compliment, considering it was the lead. But having someone in his life immediately assume he would be a beastly, ugly monster is not doing wonders for his self esteem.

If it was up to him, he’d be Lumiere. But lately, no one seemed to ask what he wanted. 

“I...don’t know?”

“Do you know how many men are in the theater department?” 

“Six-”

“Six!” his teacher cries at the same time. “We already had to make the narrator a female role. That leaves seven male roles, and now I only have five actors?”

And there it is. The crushing guilt he was trying to avoid. 

“I’m sorry,” Roman’s voice is surprisingly soft, “I just...I can’t.”

No matter what he wants, how badly he wants this, he can’t have all those people staring at him. He can’t make himself dress up as a terrifying, ugly beast. He can’t have people wait the whole play for a dashing prince and then just be...himself. 

“You know, this could have been a big role for you. It would look great on a college application.”

Roman shakes his head, his voice failing. His teacher sighs. 

“Fine.”

^

When Roman walks in, fifteen minutes late, he looks every bit as princely as he likes to pretend to be, except for the red around his eyes. 

The other three exchange glances. Thomas smiles.

“Glad you could make it, Roman.”

“Ah, well, you know, you can never predict traffic!”

“Nice try,” Thomas’s smile never falters, “But try again.”

“Why, what do you mean?” He can see Virgil raising his eyebrows out of the corner of his eyes. Patton is looking at him in concern, and Logan is staring at him like he can see right through him. 

“You know, part of group therapy is being open with each other, being vulnerable, even with emotions we find uncomfortable.”

“I, uh,” Roman sits down, “It’s just been a rough day.”

“We thought so, considering you didn’t show up for lunch,” Virgil says. Roman shoots him a glare. He couldn’t have, like, five minutes?

“What happened?” Thomas asks. 

“I decided not to do the winter musical, which the theater department had some strong opinions about. And my dad and I got into a fight. It’s really not a big deal, I’m just being my overdramatic self,” Roman tries to brush it off. 

“Roman, I think you may have trouble with invalidating your feelings.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you tend to brush off your feelings by saying you’re being over dramatic, or that they’re not important. But any feelings you experience are very important to you.”

“Well, sure, I guess, but that doesn’t mean they should be...right?”

“Let me ask you this,” Thomas continues, “ _Why_ do you think they’re unimportant?”

“I was crying in a bathroom for ten minutes over not being in a play, doc, I think in the grand scheme of things, it’s not going to matter.”

“I think that’s a little unfair,” Patton speaks up, “I mean, depending on how big of a picture we’re looking at, we could argue everything is meaningless. But that doesn’t mean it truly is. Our feelings in the moment _matter_ in the moment.”

“Also,” Virgil says, “I haven’t known you long, but even I can see how much Theater means to you. You’re giving up that passion, that escape from the real world. It’s a good step for you, and you have to do it, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you want to. Of course you’re upset.”

“That’s true,” Thomas says, “And plus, you said earlier that it wasn’t just that, it was the negative backlash from your director, and also a fight with your father-”

“Did I say that?”

“You did,” his therapist responds, “What was that about?”

“My dad was hoping that without theater, I could try and take up sports again,” Roman says, “And I couldn’t tell him the real reason why I couldn’t, so I just told him I couldn’t, but that wasn’t good enough for him and it just…” and, oh God, he’s getting choked up again, so he just cuts himself off, with a “today has just not been my day.”

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement,” Logan says.

“And that brings us back to undermining our feelings,” Thomas says. 

“Okay, I get it,” Roman rubs at his eyes, a little harder than necessary.

“Why do you feel like you couldn’t tell him the real reason?” Thomas asks, a little gentler this time. 

Roman laughs. “He wouldn’t believe me.”

“Wouldn’t believe what?”

“That I have an eating disorder. I eat so many fruits and vegetables, and I work out so much, my strength was the only thing that made him pro _ud-_ ” Roman’s mouth snaps shut before he starts sobbing again. _This is ridiculous._

“Do any of you have a similar experience?” Thomas asks, “Patton, you mentioned before that your mom caught you, so she knows about your eating disorder. What about you two?”

“My parents do not know,” Logan says and Roman looks over at him, “My mom...actually asks me for diet tips.”

Thomas doesn’t even try to hide that he’s writing that down. That is concerning. “And your dad?”

“My dad has this ridiculous notion that psychology and mental illnesses aren’t ‘real,’ that it’s a new phenomenon instead of a legitimate medical field. I haven’t told him the specifics of why I need to come here, and he’s never asked,” Logan’s hands go to his glasses, like they usually do when he’s nervous, “And I intend to keep it that way.”

“What about you, Virgil?”

Virgil sighs, “I don’t know what Violet knows. She just...sent me to a therapist one day. I tried to tell her I didn’t need it, but she wouldn’t listen, and eventually I came here. She brought up my eating habits during our family session, so I guess that’s why. She makes me eat something at dinner, usually an apple, so I guess she knows. But we don’t talk about it.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, I don’t necessarily want to talk to her.”

“Why?” Thomas keeps pressing.

“I don’t really want to talk to anyone.”

“You say that, and yet you’re here.”

“Not for long if you keep questioning me.”

Thomas holds up his hands. “Okay. If you’re done sharing, that’s fine. Originally, today I wanted to talk to you guys about what’s holding you back from recovery. We talked about what was motivating you all to move forward, but we need to look at any toxicity in life and see if we’re able to cut it off. Does that make sense?”

They all nod.

“So would you say your environments are contributing more to your recovery or your disorder?”

They all go silent for moment, thinking.

“I mean, I think it’s fair to say my environment is great. My mom has been nothing but supportive,” Patton says. And she has. She’s been great, group therapy has been great, his doctors have been great, the only problem is him and this constant empty feeling in his chest. He almost feels bad. Apparently, Virgil picks up on it, because he jumps in.

“Violet’s trying her best, I guess,” he says, “She’s taking me to these appointments and she took me in, which is already more than a lot of people would do.” _It’s just me._

“And that doesn’t invalidate your experiences,” Thomas reassures them, “It just means we have to look somewhere else to find your triggers.”

“My family is not triggering,” Roman rushes to say, but he’s a little too late and a little too unsure.

“Roman, let’s jump back a bit. You said you felt your emotions were unimportant. Have your parents ever said they were unimportant?”

“No,” he says immediately, then, “Maybe?”

“Which isn’t ideal. I don’t think it’s just you invalidating your feelings, I think it’s your whole family. And I’m afraid, and Emile’s afraid, that it might make you feel like _you’re_ unimportant.”

Roman isn’t sure what to do. He knows he should straighten his back and flick his hands up and smile and reassure him that he doesn’t have to worry about that. He should defend his family, because they’ve done so much for him. They only wants what’s best for him. 

But he’s stuck. The words aren’t coming up and he can’t raise his head to actually look at his therapist. 

Thomas gives it a minute to sink in, then turns to Logan.

“And the fact that your parents don’t understand, that they consider your habits healthy even, is very concerning. It’s hard to step back and recognize that what you’re doing is unhealthy when everyone around you is saying it’s fine.”

Logan nods, thinking. If he had never met with the doctor, if he had never met with Thomas, where would he be now? Still delusional, not even recognizing the signs? 

“This is such an important topic, and one you guys need to be aware of. I’m going to put a little star next to it, so you can continue talking about it with Dr. Picani,” Dr. Sanders says, “But we’re out of time for today. Until next time, guys.”

^

Roman tries to subtly speed walk down the hallway, but the other three catch up to him, anyway.

“So?” Virgil asks. 

“So what?” Maybe acting clueless will work.

“So why did you skip lunch today?” 

“And where were you during gym?” Logan asks. 

“My director caught me right before I went to lunch,” Roman says, defeated, “Our talk wasn’t the greatest, and I just...couldn’t eat right then.”

“But you are coming back tomorrow?” Patton asks. After all, he’s never stopped his behaviors, why should he expect Roman to quit immediately? And really, they all know that. They’ve all had a good streak of eating decent meals for two weeks, but it was only a matter of time before someone had a bad day. 

“Yeah,” Roman says, straightening up and looking Patton in the eyes, “I will.” And he means it. He doesn’t want to. But he will.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Logan's Birthday, so that means he gets to be sad in this chapter. 
> 
> TWs: Denial. Like, one big chapter of denial, self-shaming of eating habits, skipping therapy appointments

“Logan?”

“Hm?” Logan says, not looking up from the psychology book. 

“The bell rang,” his teacher says, “You need to go to your next class.”

Something in him wants to laugh at that, but he catches himself and tries to correct his response. _We do need to go to lunch. Food is fuel. You do need it._

“Just let me finish this sentence,” Logan mumbles. His teacher was trying his best, he assumed, and she had a passion for teaching the material. But the class was simply an elective at a high school, he couldn’t expect to learn everything. Right now, he’s skipping ahead to try and learn more about eating disorders. 

There’s a whole paragraph on anorexia nervosa, and it ends with the mortality rate. Logan stares at it, trying to burn it into his brain, trying to flip a switch somewhere in there. This is stupid, he needs to function, he needs to eat, he needs to fuel himself, he needs to eat, he’s ruining his brain, , _he needs to eat-_

Logan slams the book shut. His teacher jumps slightly. “Logan?”

He ignores her, just like he ignores the tears in his eyes. He walks out of the classroom without a word. His dad was right, he never should have taken this class. Maybe he could still switch to Computer Science. 

^

Patton, Roman, and Virgil are trying to speak through facial expressions only. They think they are being subtle, or that Logan is too absorbed in whatever he’s thinking to notice. They are incorrect on both fronts. 

Though to be fair, he has let his eyes glaze over and gone silent about four times already during this lunch, and it wasn’t even halfway over yet. 

It’s Virgil who finally breaks. “Logan, are you like, good?”

“Yes,” Logan says, snapping out of his trance and sitting up a bit straighter. 

“You sure?” Patton says, gently, “You seem a bit off today.”

“Yes. I’m eating, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, but you’ve only eaten, like 3/4ths of a celery stick.”

Logan puts the last piece in his mouth. He means to chew it, but suddenly it feels like solid rock sitting on his tongue and he can’t. 

“Logan?” Patton says, and he manages to snap Logan back to reality enough for him to chew it. 

And that’s how lunch goes. Logan breaks his lunch into pieces, and lets them sit there until someone coaxes him into eating. 

By the time the bell rings, Logan has eaten two celery sticks and one fourth of a peanut butter sandwich. It’s when they all start packing up that he finally whispers, “It’s not real.”

“What?” Roman asks, starting to get worried. 

“I mean it’s not me,” Logan shakes his head, “I just...look at pamphlets and warnings and definitions, and it doesn’t matter how much it fits. It’s just...not true. It’s not me. I can’t be doing this to myself.”

“Logan…,” Patton says, but now students are standing outside the door, and Logan is brushing everything into the trash and walking away before anyone can say anything. 

Virgil pokes Roman in the side, and he yelps. 

_“Fix it.”_

“Me? Why?” Roman asks.

“Because you’re the only one who has a class with him,” Virgil points out. 

“I don’t know how to fix it, I don’t even have my own shit together!”

“Well, duh.”

Roman gasps, offended. 

Patton debates going after him, but he has a feeling he’d never be able to convince Logan to skip a class to have a talk about feelings, so he just sighs and says, “Uh, guys? We should go.”

^

“You need to get to the bleachers, Crofter,” Coach says. His student has just walked into the gym. Logan’s eyes are glazed over, and he’s focusing on the students, counting each one as they pass him in their warm-up lap. 

“ _Crofter_. Bleachers,” his teacher repeats firmly.

Logan visibly shakes himself out of his trance and starts trudging up the bleachers. He actually considered skipping class, as Roman had done the previous week, but everything in him screamed that was wrong. 

He has a feeling it won’t work, but it’s worth a shot. Instead of sitting next to Roman, he keeps walking, straight past him. A noble effort, but useless, because Roman just stands up and follows him. 

“Do we have to make this difficult? I was really hoping we could just get to the opening up and talking thing that Picani and Sanders are trying to get us to do,” Logan keeps walking, “You know, Coach is going to yell at us for being up here.”

That makes Logan stop. Roman runs into him. 

“Seriously? That worked? I mean, okay,” Roman says as they both sit down, “So what is this spacey thing you’re doing?”

“I am not _spacing out,_ ” Logan says, “I am counting.”

“Counting? Counting what?”

Calories. Steps. “Nothing,” Logan says, immediately, then he alters it to, “Everything. It’s not important.”

“I feel like if it was unimportant, you would be able to stop doing it.”

“I _can_ stop doing it,” Logan says. Roman looks skeptical, “Stop looking at me like that! I’m fine. It’s fine. You are making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Me?” Roman huffs, “First off, not just me. Me and Virgil and Patton and definitely Picani and Sanders when I tell them.”

“Tell them whatever you want,” Logan snaps, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Roman suddenly goes quiet, “Logan, what do you mean?”

“I’m not going back to group,” Logan tells him, “I told you during lunch. I don’t have an eating disorder-”

“You don’t _feel_ like you have an eating disorder,” Roman corrects. 

“If I don’t feel like I have one, then what makes everyone so sure I do?”

“Probably because you can’t eat anything other than celery, bread, peanut butter, and jam,” Logan flinches at that, “Shit, no, wait-it’s fine. We’re not, like, judging you for your food or anything, it’s just-”

“It’s too much.”

Roman blinks. “Excuse me?” 

“Do you know how many calories are in those? Do you know how much is in the jam alone? Because I do, and it’s in my brain and it won’t get out, it won’t stop, it won’t-” Logan’s hands tear at his hair for a second before he pulls them out and takes a deep breath. “I just started eating everything again, without any troubles. I don’t have a problem at all.”

“...I have several concerns,” Roman says, “Okay, one, I do know, thanks, and even for me, four things you feel comfortable eating is, like, a super low number. Two, you are definitely currently having troubles. So there’s a no for that. And also no to you not having a problem. Again, currently, having a very big problem.”

Logan leans forward, puts his head in his hands. Roman sighs. 

“Logan? Do you realize why you’re here?”

“To...learn? That’s typically what you go to school for-”

“No. I mean like, _right here_. On these bleachers. I know it’s really easy to forget, but you are hurting your body and that’s why you have to be up here.”

Logan lifts his head up from his hands, keeping his eyes on their peers below. 

“Or maybe he’s just wrong. Maybe all these complications are just in my head-”

“Okay, we’re going to play a game,” Roman says, holding up a finger with one hand and digging for his phone with the other. 

“A...game?”

“These complications, what are they?”

“Oh, they’re just little things that show I’m not quite as healthy as someone my age should be-”

“So, little things? Like being cold and shivering?”

“Um. Yes?” Logan says, surprised.

“Dehydration?”

“No, I drink eight glasses a day-” Logan cuts himself off. Wait. “Wait. Dry skin, dizziness, headache...maybe?”

“So, you have headaches, dry skin, and you get dizzy?”

“Yes...I don’t see how this is game.”

“The game is called, ‘Google Anorexia Side Effects and See How Many Logan Has’.”

“Ah. I don’t like this game.”

“Too bad! Ever fainted?”

“No.” His legs have crumpled under him and he’s been left scrambling for the counter to grasp on to. Sometimes his head swims, and he doesn’t remember how he got on the floor or why he’s holding on to the staircase like that. But Roman doesn’t need to know that. 

“Fatigue?” 

Logan glares at him and doesn’t say anything. 

“Got it,” Roman says, putting his phone away. “Now how likely is it that you’re going to explain this counting thing to me?”

“The counting is not a thing, it’s just...sometimes I need to keep my brain occupied.” Because he’s afraid of what will happen if he lets go. He needs something to ground him in reality, to keep him steady. It was a healthy coping mechanism, really. Honestly. 

^

Logan was not freaking out. He was trying to prove-no, he was trying to _show_ everyone that he didn’t have anything wrong with him. So, crying over jam is definitely not a possibility. 

But he can’t find it. He has searched and moved everything in his cabinet and shuffled things around but he can’t find it. 

His mom walks in and he peeks around the door. 

“Mom? Did you pick up the jam like I asked you to?”

“Oh, that,” she says, “I actually have been cutting some things out of my diet, to be healthier, so I didn’t pick that up. It’s too tempting to have around the house.”

“Tempting. Of course.”

“It’s not a big deal, Logan,” she says, “In fact, a healthier diet may help you out.”

His mind, the traitor, thinks back to gym class and Roman’s “game.” 

“Actually, my doctor wanted me to avoid that.”

“Funny, that’s usually the first thing they want to change,” she laughs, then immediately cuts herself off, “Oh darn!” she rushes over to the fridge, where the calendar is hung up. “You were supposed to have an appointment today. If we hurry, we’ll still be late, but maybe-”

Logan knows about the appointment, and he knows he should have reminded her like he does every day. But instead he says, “You know what? Don’t worry about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to tell you guys a little story, feel free to skip it. I was actually debating putting this story on hold for the month of November in order to do NaNoWriMo. This is the first big project I've done in a while, and I always felt like it wasn't "serious" enough, because it was fanfic. But people have told me they actually like this?? And that it reminds them of their own recovery?? I know I don't respond to comments, which I might change soon, but I read all of them, multiple times. I just get so excited that most of my replies would be gibberish. Then Thomas came out with a whole video about people respecting different mediums of storytelling. And it just. Made me feel things. And I'm not going to put this story on hold, in fact, I'm going to try and increase how much I write this.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: self deprecating thoughts, denial

“Where were you during lunch?” Roman asks Logan as soon as he’s within ear shot, “Virgil said you didn’t talk to him at all during class and you left before any of us could ask what was up.”

Logan doesn’t say anything, just walks up to the bleacher behind him. Roman sighs. 

“Logan, you can’t just decide you don’t have an eating disorder, and even if you didn’t, you can’t just leave us like that,” Roman pauses, “Or, at least, we’d really appreciate it if you didn’t. Patton was worried.”

…

“Virgil was, too.”

…

“And maybe I was a little bit, too. You know. Just like, if you don’t want to eat with us anymore, tell us?”

…

“Wait a second, are you giving me the _silent treatment?_ ” Roman asks, “That is...really childish. And I thought you were mature.” Roman’s eyes go wide, “How am I supposed to pass time now? At least look at me! Logan!”

But Logan ignores him, instead he gets out a book to start his homework. Roman leans over and taps on the top of it. 

“Logan. Logan. Logan. Logan,” he says, “Pay attention to me. We have to talk.”

Logan slams the book shut, and Roman yanks his fingers back before they’re crushed with a yelp. But once they’re out of the way, Logan just opens his book again.

“Fine. I can do the not talking thing too.”

…

“Really? Nothing? No skeptical look? No glare? No frowning at my bad grammar?” No response. “Dammit.”

^

Logan slips into his desk next to Virgil the following day.

“You know,” he says, eyes on the board, “You can’t keep this up forever.”

Both of them keep their eyes on the board. Logan isn’t going to crack that easy. 

“Eventually, you’ll have to talk to me or Roman.”

Except Virgil isn’t so sure he’s right anymore. His anxiety makes it hard for him to convince _himself_ that Logan has to talk to them, much less convince Logan. It doesn’t sound likely, Logan being able to avoid them all for the next year, but he supposes there are kids he’s never talked to, what if Logan just fades into one of them, wait-was he even going to come into therapy? Had it gotten that serious? How? What if-

“Virgil, are you okay?” Mrs. Spencer is suddenly at his side, “Do you need to be excused?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Logan look over at him, and he looks worried. Virgil takes a deep breath but shakes his head. He’s not trying to guilt him into talking to them again. Logan keeps his eyes on him for a second longer, then looks to the front of the classroom. Mrs. Spencer’s eyes flick over to him, but the bell rings and she has to get class started. 

One thing is clear to Logan: Roman was right. This whole thing is childish. But he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t have an eating disorder, and it’s wrong for him to use resources others need, like therapy, like Mrs. Spencer’s room, like this support system-

_You don’t deserve it._

But if he told any of his friends- _not his friends, you don’t deserve them_ -if he told his peers that, they clearly wouldn’t believe him. Roman had proven that. Or worse. They would see the truth. That he never deserved any of this. He wasn’t sick enough. He wasn’t sick at all. 

These are the thoughts that make it hard to focus in English. That, and the fact that he and Virgil are looking at each other while also pretending not to look at each other. They haven’t made eye contact once, thankfully, because Logan doesn’t know what he would say if they did. Well, that’s not completely true. He’d probably start with “I’m sorry.”

The bell rings, and for a second Logan actually considers staying. He could explain himself, right? They would probably understand. But when he sees Roman and Patton in the doorway, he can’t do it. He jumps from his seat and leaves.

^

Patton drops his bag into a random seat and turns to Roman and Virgil. 

“I’ll be back,” he says, and he follows Logan outside.   
“Did he talk to you at all?” Roman asks Virgil, pulling up a desk to sit across from him. 

“Nope,” Virgil says, “I think he was close at one point, but that was just because I was scaring him.”

“Scaring him?” 

“I was panicking, a little,” he says, and he doesn’t know what’s worse, focusing on Roman when he says that, or focusing on his food. 

“Ah...is that...better now?”

“Well, I’m not going to cry into your food or pass out because I can’t breathe, if that’s what your thinking.”

“...are those actual things that can happen?”

Virgil glares at Roman, but he’s caught off guard, because Roman seems...sincere. He just seems curious, not malicious. 

“I mean, I guess they can. Especially the crying thing. But I’ve never actually passed out, even though sometimes it’s hard to breathe.”

“Okay,” Roman says, slowly, “So you have anxiety, too?”

“I mean, I guess? You know Picani’s method-”

“You are not your disorder,” they both quote their therapist.

“So I’ve never actually asked what I have, but it’s pretty obvious from the panic attacks,” Virgil says, and he finally takes a bite of his lunch, “What about you?”

“I don’t think I have any other problems besides the eating disorder.”

Virgil takes a sip from his water so he doesn’t say anything snarky. They already have one issue right now. They eat in silence for a bit before Roman cracks.

“I think I made it worse.”

“Made what worse?”

Roman gestures towards the door, “The Logan situation. The last time I talked to him...he said he doesn’t think he has an eating disorder.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that during lunch. Did he say more during gym?”

“Nothing new. Just that he thought he ate too much-” Roman pauses when he sees Virgil’s face, “Yeah, I know. And I tried to help? But I think I made it worse.”

“What did you do?”

“You know how he’s like, super smart and factual? I tried to show him the facts. So I googled anorexia and showed him that he was having the same complications as other sufferers. To try and prove it to him,” Roman babbles a bit, then pauses. Virgil doesn’t say anything for a second, so he blurts out, “Do you think I made it worse?”

Virgil looks at him and for a second Roman’s afraid of what he’ll say. 

“Do I think it’s your fault that someone with _an eating disorder_ is in denial? No. I don’t,” 

Roman lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, but something is still bothering him. Virgil can tell. 

“Spit it out, Princey.”

“Did I hurt his feelings, though? He was talking to us, and we were fine, and then I talked to him, and now he hates us?” _Does he hate me?_

“Yep, must be your fault,” And the sarcasm must not even register, because Roman immediately pales, “Wait, wait, wait! I was being an ass, I’m sorry,” Virgil says quickly. Then he sighs, “We were not okay. He could barely eat during lunch, and he wasn’t talking to us at all, remember? And I don’t think it’s because you talked to him, I think it’s because you showed him we wouldn’t believe his lies about being okay. Of course he’s defensive.”

“...so he doesn’t hate me?”

Virgil bites his tongue. That set up was just too good, but he can’t hurt Roman’s feelings twice in one heart-to-heart moment. 

“No, I don’t think he hates you.”

Roman takes a deep breath. Good. He doesn’t know if he could handle more people hating him. 

^

Logan is trying to find the most complicated walking pattern he possibly can, to try and lose Patton.

It’s not working. And now people are thinning out, so it’s easier for him to follow.

“I will follow you around this entire school, Logan,” Patton threatens. Well. As much as Patton can threaten. 

But it makes Logan sigh and face his fri- _peer._

“I don’t need the room anymore, therefore I’m not using it. That’s all.”

“Really? So you can suddenly eat exactly how you want to? Your last session must have been miraculous,” Something almost imperceptible crosses Logan’s face, but Patton catches it and raises an eyebrow. 

“I…,” this is only going to make it worse, Logan knows that, but he might as well get everyone off his case, “I had an appointment with Dr. Sanders yesterday, but I didn’t go.” 

Patton frowns. “You know, to get the full benefits of recovery, you have to commit to it, one hundred percent.”

Logan groans, “Now you sound like him. But, it’s just,” Logan sighs, “I don’t have an eating disorder. And it’s wrong for me to keep using the resources that are available, so I need to cease immediately.” Logan turns quickly and starts walking down the hallway. 

Logan expects footsteps, either to stop him or to leave him. What he doesn’t expect is possibly the world’s quietest voice asking, “You don’t mean that, do you?”

It would be easy to ignore, but something makes him turn around, “Of course I do. I wouldn’t have said it if it was untrue.”

“Logan…,” Patton walks up to him. He searches for something to say, biting his lip. But he can’t find the words. So instead he leans over and wraps his arms around Logan. He holds his breath to see how he reacts, ready to pull back at a second’s notice. 

Logan freezes. He can’t remember the last time someone has hugged him. Slowly, he brings his hands up to wrap around Patton. 

“You must be hurting so much.”

“I-I’m not,” Logan says, but his voice his failing him and suddenly he feels tears in his eyes. He holds on to Patton a little tighter. Then slowly he says, “I don’t want to.”

“Don’t want to what?”

“Do _this._ I don’t want to starve myself, but I-I don’t want to eat either. It’s been _years,_ Patton.”

“I know,” Patton says, and suddenly Logan is overwhelmed with guilt, he almost wants to pull away. Patton thinks back, back to last night, and every night before, “Sometimes I don’t either.”

“But if we don’t…”

The second half of the sentence hangs in the air. Neither one of them has to say it. That’s not an option. 

Logan leans his head on Patton’s shoulder, hiding for just a second. “I’m not strong enough to do this. I thought if I could convince myself...if I could convince everyone...why can’t it just be over?”

“I don’t know,” Patton says, “I don’t know why it just won’t stop, but...it will, eventually. If we keep trying, dedicating ourselves, just like Dr. Sanders said. Just try, Logan, please?”

Logan finally drops his hands, wiping at his eyes as fast as he can. He takes a deep breath. 

“Okay.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: implied self-harm, mentions of family separating (CPS removing kids from families)

“Virgil?” 

“Just a second,” Virgil slips the knife back into the pillowcase and sets it on the top shelf of his closet. He shuts the closet door and opens the door to his bedroom, “What?”

“Can I come in?” Violet asks. This is a test, and Virgil knows it. If he says no, she’ll just think that he’s hiding something. Which he is, but he’s actually good at hiding it. 

“Sure,” he opens the door and steps back to let her in. She frowns, just a little, and walks in, sitting at his desk. 

Virgil’s room is pretty bare. Before him, his aunt had lived in a one bedroom apartment, because that was all she needed. For about a month, he slept on the couch. Eventually, they moved to a new apartment in the same building, one with two bedrooms. But Virgil still kept his stuff packed up, ready to move back to his dad’s at a moment’s notice. Now, his aunt is looking at the boxes and frowning. 

“What do you want?”

“You have a session with Picani tomorrow.”

“I do. You’re not invited, if that’s what you were asking.”

“I was just wondering...if you had talked about your...previous circumstances at all. You know, about your dad, about how you got here…,” she trails off. 

Virgil lets the silence hang in the air for a second, before he says, “No.”

“I thought you said you liked him?”

“Like is a stretch,” Virgil lies, “He’s just better than the therapist you found.”

“Right,” Violet says, “I’m just worried about your progress.”

“Don’t. I’m progressing just fine.” The cuts on his side are throbbing and he can practically hear them shouting _liar, liar, liar, liar_ -

“Do you think you’ll actually feel comfortable enough to tell him everything eventually?” 

_No._ “Sure. Eventually. Not now.” Anything to make this conversation end. 

It must not be convincing, because his aunt is giving him the same “cut-the-bullshit” look she gives her clients. 

Violet never means to be intimidating. In fact, when you work for Child Protective Services, it might be better to be open or warm. And she could be, if she tried. But she had seen too many parents pout and cry when they asked about the marks on their kids arms, heard too many promises that their kids were getting enough to eat, smelled too much liquor on their breath. Sure, some families were meant to stay together. Some were meant to weather the storm of addiction and come out on the other side. But, some kids needed toxicity cleansed from their life. That was what was best for them, and when it was, Violet was there, holding their hands as they walked away. 

Violet has been called cruel, a monster, evil. She was the worker they told stories about. The evil CPS worker who just wanted to steal kids away from their parents. Didn’t she have a _heart_? Would she do it to her own _family_? 

Well, turns out she would. She took her nephew away from her brother, because it was what was best for Virgil. 

“Would you?” Virgil asked, going a more honest route. 

Violet opens her mouth, ready to insist that yes, it was time to be more open, to break down his walls. But it’s hard. She _knows_ it’s hard. And going to therapy in the first place was already a huge deal. 

“I guess that’s up to you,” she says. She stands up from the desk and heads out the door. 

^

“ _There you are.”_

__

__

_Virgil jumps at the sudden voice, but when he turns his head, it’s just Elliott. He sighs, steeling himself. He had to start hiding during lunches, because they would always find him and either beg him to come eat, or bring around their douchebag boyfriend._

__

“Hey, El. What’s going on?”

“So you know Kai?” 

_Virgil squints. He’s sure he’s seen him around, skating or something. “Barely.”_

_“Well he, you know, comes around Picani’s office sometimes, so we’ve been talking. But he had this idea that we could go over to his house for a bit, have some snacks, play some video games, but he’s really good so we’ll probably lose but that’s fine it’s just for fun-”_

_Elliott is rambling. Which is a problem, because it means there’s something wrong._

_“What’s actually going on?”_

_Elliott stops in their tracks. “I, uh. You know how I’ve been seeing that therapist?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“We talked about Mitchell, and how we might not be totally healthy?”_

_“Literally everyone tells you that, but sure. Therapist guy.”_

_“We just did some talking, and I thought about it a lot and…,” Elliott trails off then shakes their head. “I broke up with Mitchell.”_

_Silence._

__

__

“You what?”

_“I broke up with Mitchell,” they repeat, even though they both know Virgil heard them the first time, “And I...I think it’s serious this time.” Their eyes are tearing up. “Kai just thought...if we had some fun this weekend, this party or whatever, I wouldn’t think about it and I wouldn’t regret it and I just-”_

_Elliott can’t continue because they are being crushed by a hug. Virgil is hugging them, which catches them off guard. They may be best friends, but Virgil still doesn’t do hugs, ever, with anyone. Elliott hugs him back._

_“That’s amazing, El, I’m so proud of you….,” Virgil whispers, and damn, now both of them are teary._

_“Yeah, I...I am, too. I think,” Elliott winces, “You know, we’re working on my confidence next.”_

_Virgil laughs and finally pulls away, “I’d say that’s a good thing, but I don’t have much room to talk.”_

_There’s a beat of silence that lasts a little too long, and he looks over at Elliott with raised eyebrows._

_“You know, I’ve just been thinking. Therapy has been good for me. I think...it might be good for you, too?”_

_Virgil shakes his head, “To go to therapy, you need a car. And my dad would never drive me to therapy.”_

_“If all you need is a car, my sister can drive us,” Elliott says, immediately._

_“I’m not going to bug your sister. Besides, what happens in September when she heads up to college?”_

_Elliott’s face falls and Virgil regrets bringing that up, but they just shake it off and go back to the topic at hand._

_“I already asked her, she said it’s fine. And we can figure it out when it gets here. Just, consider it, Virge, please?”_

_“I’ll consider it.” Virgil didn’t trust therapists. He didn’t need anyone poking around in his life. He had to keep everyone at a distance, or things would we really go to shit. And if this guy could convince Elliott to break up with Mitchell, who knew what kind of mind games he could play?_

^

“Look, Virgil, I got a new toy!” Emile says as soon as he walks in. 

Virgil turns his head to the end stand, where his therapist keeps all his fidget toys. There’s therapy putty, a tangle, a fidget spinner, and now a small cube.

“Good for you, Emile.”

“Well, aren’t you gonna play with it?”

“I think I’m good.” 

Virgil still didn’t completely trust him. At this point, he had been burned too many times to fully trust anyone. But Emile had earned his respect before he even met him, because if he got through to Elliott when so many others couldn’t, he must be doing something right. 

Even if some of his methods were...interesting. 

“C’moooooon,” Emile whines, “It has buttons.”

“Oooh,” Virgil says, sarcastically. He picks up the small cube, anyway, just to humor him. He presses a few of the buttons, looking it over to see all the different sides. 

“So what are we going to talk about today?” Dr. Picani asks him, leaning back in his chair and pulling out his notebook. 

“I’m guessing I can’t say ‘nothing.’”

“Well, you could, but that wouldn’t be very beneficial, would it?”

Virgil sighs, clicking the buttons quicker, trying to think of something. There was only one thing on his mind, but he didn’t need to think about that, it was over.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Seriously, how did he _do_ that?

“I’m thinking about some things that happened this week.”

“You know, it’s a little easier for me to try and help if you’re a little more specific.”

Virgil looks up and glares, flicking the little light switch on the cube. 

“Logan...wasn’t doing so well recently. I’m not saying that to judge him or anything, it’s just,” he sighs, “We were worried, you know? He stopped eating one day, and then the next he avoided us all, and then he skipped his therapy appointment.”

“Is he back on track now?”

“Yeah, he’s good now,” Virgil says, “It was just...off for a little bit.”

“And what did things being ‘off’ mean for you?”

“I feel like that’s just your way of asking me how I feel without being a cliche.”

“I feel like that’s you dodging the question and hoping I don’t notice.”

Virgil huffs, leaning back on the couch. “I don’t know, I guess it’s just...I’m not used to this friends thing, you know? Like how is it supposed to work? I tried to make Logan feel better, but I almost made it worse. And then Patton made him feel better, which is not surprising because Patton is the same one who made _me_ feel better during a panic attack. But what if he gets tired of trying to help us all the time? What if we’re not helping him enough? What if one of us gets better and can’t be pulled down by the rest anymore? What if-” Virgil cuts himself off, pulling his eyes away from his therapist and focusing on the fidget cube. 

“Virgil?”

“What if one of us gets worse?”

Dr. Picani inhales, deeply, “Well, I can’t promise you they won’t. Eating disorders can come in waves of severity. But I think you need to remember you guys aren’t alone in this. You have me and Thomas. If someone is starting to spiral, we’ll know.”

Virgil’s mind flashes back to Patton, back to all his snarky comments about himself, flashes to Logan, and how he backpedaled so quickly so suddenly. “Will you?”

Picani purses his lips, then leads forward in his chair, slightly. “Virgil, can I ask you question?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“If I asked you who you trusted, who would you say?”

Virgil opens his mouth, ready to answer, but stops. He used to be able to say, honestly, that he trusted Elliott. And, well, look what happened there. He could say Patton, he can’t imagine him ever purposefully hurting anyone, but you never know. He definitely didn’t trust his aunt, not after she decided to completely overhaul his life without his input.

“I guess...no one.”

Dr. Picani frowns. “We’ll have to work on that.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: referenced self harm, therapy session, discussion of self-hatred

Looking back on it, Patton won over Paisley and Julia before he even spoke to them, back when they first started the adoption process.

They had agreed to look at all possible choices-no matter what age, what gender, what state of health. They were going to find the perfect fit for their little family, and putting restrictions on who that could be seemed...unnecessary. So when their case worker told them that they had finally, _finally,_ found a child they thought would be a good fit, they set up a meeting as soon as they possibly could. 

They were meeting him at a park, with their caseworker and his previous foster family. They had expected him to be on the playground, swinging from the swings, or running through the fake castles. Instead he was at the picnic table with the adults, a stack of paper on one side of him, and a box of crayons on the other. 

When he heard footsteps, his head jerked up, making little blonde curls bounce. He smiled.. “Hiiiiiii! Are you Miss Paisley and Miss Julia?”

“We sure are,” Jules had replied, already slipping in across from him. “Are you Patton?”

“Yep!” he giggled. 

The foster family held out hands, introduced themselves, and they all followed the rules to ensure Patton was going to be safe and happy. But Paisley kept finding her eyes falling to him, to all the scribbling he was doing. Of course, they weren’t scribbles to him, and finally she couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Whatcha drawing?”

Patton looked up, and then held up his drawing. “Issa cat! For Val!”

“Val is another foster kid we’ve taken in,” his foster dad said.

“I’m makin’ drawin’s for all my brothers and sisters,” Patton said. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, “I can make one for you!”

Paisley thinks the right thing to do here is say no, that’s okay, but also she doesn’t want to discourage his creativity.

Also, screw it, she wants a picture. 

Patton puts his cat drawing aside, tucked safely under the crayon box with the rest of them so the wind doesn’t blow them away. He stares at the blank piece of paper, and then, carefully, he draws a big heart. He colors it in red, gently, and stays inside the lines as best he can.  
“A heart for the Harts,” he announces and hands it over. Then he goes, “I can make you one, too, Miss Julia.”

“I would like that very much,” she says, already amazed by this child, “But I would really love it if you could just call me Julia.”

Patton frowns and looks to his foster parents. 

“It’s okay, Patton,” they say. 

“Okay...Julia and Paisley,” he says, slowly. Then, again, he traces a big heart on the paper, this time it’s pink. 

The rest of the meeting is centered around what their next steps might be if they want to continue. Jules and Paisley share looks, because they already know this child is the one that’s been missing in their life. 

On the way home, Paisley starts sniffling, which catches her girlfriend completely by surprise. 

“I just love him,” she says, which makes Jules smile. 

“Good, because I do, too,” she says, leaning over and pecking Paisley on the cheek, “And I love you. And I think this may work out.”

^

Paisley is not sentimental. Stuff is just that-stuff. But she’ll be damned if she ever gets rid of that heart drawing. 

It used to hang up in the bedroom, but now it sits in the top drawer of her nightstand. Sometimes she holds it, as if it’s some sort of anchor. 

She holds it on the night her girlfriend dies, before they’re even legally allowed to become wives. She holds it and cries, knowing the next morning she’s going to have to tell their son that she’s all he has left now and that feels so _empty._

She holds it the first time Patton tells her he hates her. It starts with a big fight, and she honestly can’t remember the trigger, but he hurls the words at her like weapons, stomps off and slams the door, and she feels like ice. She doesn’t cry, knows that if she does he’ll let the guilt eat him alive. It doesn’t matter, because it does anyway, and he ends up slipping a note under her door explaining he’s been hiding the fact that he’s pansexual and he doesn’t know what to do and he’s scared. She lets go of the drawing and goes to hug him instead. 

She holds it at four in the morning after she finds Patton on his knees at midnight. She knows she’s not going to work, she knows he’s not going to school, and she knows she’s going to search all day the next day to find a mental health center that can take him. But besides that, she’s completely lost. 

She holds it every night, hoping that one day she won’t hear the creak of his steps as he makes his way down the stairs. She aches for it everytime he lies to her. 

Paisley works in a hospital as a phlebotomist. She’s not connected to the mental health side of things, but she’s able to follow some leads, do some research, and find out whatever she can about this illness her son has. And she hates it, because everything she finds tells her all she can do is be there for him, and she’s _trying_ but it’s not working. Is there something wrong with her? Should she find a different therapist? No, this is a process, and this new doctor is trying some new methods, so they’re making progress, it’s just slow. She thinks.

All the research has shown her one thing: Patton really, really hates himself.

And she can’t fathom why, because since the moment they’ve met, she’s loved him. She loved him so much it hurt. 

^

“Mom? Are you...okay?”

Paisley grips the steering wheel a little tighter, breathes a little deeper, then says, “Of course!”

Patton frowns before looking out the window of the car, and she wonders why, _why_ he still feels the need to look after everyone else when he’s the one who’s hurting so badly. 

“It’s just,” she says, knowing if she wants him to be open and honest, she must first be open and honest. Unfortunately, she’s not very good at being open and honest, that was always Jules’s territory. “I’m worried about you.”

“Oh, don’t be!” Patton looks over, eyes bright, “I really like group, it’s really helping me.”

“Is Dr. Sanders helping you? Do I need to find a new one?”

“No, no,” Patton says, “He’s really helping, too.”

She wants to ask him why he’s lying to her, but she doesn’t know if that’s the right move. Really, she doesn’t know anything. 

That’s what she thinks when Patton gets out of the car and waves at her. She drives over to park, where she’ll wait for him for the entire session. Just like always. 

^

Logan is realizing his new friends are not very subtle. 

This is something he realizes when Dr. Picani comes in and asks “what’s new?” and they all respond by looking at him. He sighs. He might as well get this over with. 

“I skipped my appointment this week,” he admits.

“Yes, Dr. Sanders mentioned you didn’t show up,” Emile responds, pulling out the notebook, “You say you skipped it?”

“I did,” Logan says, “I had a temporary lapse in judgment.”

“So, is this lapse something you wanted to talk about now or in your individual?”

“I don’t see why I need to talk about it, it’s over.”

“Yes, but if we don’t know what caused it, then what happens if it happens again?” 

“It won’t,” Now everyone is avoiding eye contact. “What?”

“Logan, let me ask you a question that I hope you feel comfortable sharing,” Dr. Picani starts, pushing his glasses up with the end of his pen, “How long have you been suffering from your eating disorder?”

“...Three years,” Logan responds. 

“Do you think habits, and the things you’ve taught yourself, can be unlearned in a few sessions?”

“Well, I would like it to be,” Logan says, bluntly, before taking a moment to reflect a little more, “I think that’s part of the issue. Healing is going to take so much time, and so much strength, and I just...don’t think I can do it. It’d be easier if I just didn’t have an issue in the first place. So I convinced myself I didn’t.”

“The fact that you’re aware of that is good, Logan,” Dr. Picani says, “I also find it interesting that last session you were talking about invalidation, and you got to the point where you were attempting to invalidate yourself.”

“I...didn’t look at it that way.” 

“What happened when you told your mom you weren’t going to therapy? Did she fight it all?”

“No, she forgot about the appointment. She was just grateful we didn’t actually need to leave.”

“So she sees this as more of a chore than something beneficial for you?”

“I...guess,” Logan says, slowly. 

“Well, I would like you to discuss this more in your individual with Dr. Sanders, but I think this ties in nicely with what we were planning on talking about this time, which was your support system.” 

“Didn’t we talk enough about that last time?” Virgil speaks up.

“Well, as we can see, it’s very clear support systems can have be very impactful.”

“So? We have this now.”

“Well, yes, but ‘this’ is not going to be as helpful if you don’t utilize it.”

“But...we are utilizing it?” Patton says, “Aren’t we?”

“You are using it in a way by showing up,” Emile says, “But I want you guys to realize just how safe you are in here. I want you all to feel like you can talk about anything.”

Virgil thinks back to yesterday, to the cuts on his thigh, and ducks his head, letting his hood fall down over his eyes. 

“Patton, Virgil, you’ve said you feel you have a fairly stable support system-”

“Hey! I do, too!” 

“Of course, Roman. A fairly stable support system in your family, and you all have the teacher whose room you’re utilizing. You have me and Dr. Sanders, and, of course, you have each other,” Emile says, “So, with all that in mind, if something were to trigger you, where would you go?”

Everyone goes silent. 

“I just...I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, you know?” Patton says, “A lot of this stuff feels so...heavy, all the time. I don’t want someone else to have to carry it like I do.”

“But wouldn’t that make it easier to carry?” Virgil asks.

“I...don’t know. And I don’t want to accidentally hurt someone to find out.”

“It does hurt, in a way,” Virgil admits, “To see people you care about suffering, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to help.”

“I find it interesting that you’re the one to say that, Virgil, since Violet has also expressed she wants to help you, yet you don’t feel like you can trust her.”

“That’s different,” Virgil says, immediately.

“How?”

“Because I don’t _know_ her,” Virgil says without thinking. And shit. Now everyone’s expecting an explanation, “Violet is my aunt, but my dad and I were kinda isolated from our family, and she just sort of swooped in one day and since then she’s been making decisions that she thinks are best for me, without even _asking_ me, by the way, and-” he shakes his head. “It’s different.”

“Do you think it’s possible that, even if she doesn’t know you, like you say, that she could care?”

“I mean, I guess. I don’t know why else she’d be going through all this. But she might also just want to be absolved from her guilt.”

“What does she have to feel guilty about?” 

“Nice try,” Virgil says, “But we’re not talking about that today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so, so late, and I am very, very sorry.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: overexercising, ignorance....I think that's actually it for this one?

Roman creates like it’s the cure for his sickness. 

He isn’t sure what his sickness is, if it’s the eating disorder that weighs him down, if it’s all the darkness swirling in his head that he pretends isn’t there, if it’s the smog in his environment that feels like poison in his mouth every time he breathes it in. Whatever it is, he feels like if he has something-a pen, some markers, a script, _something_ -then he can hit the ground running and leave it in the dust. 

“So I have one good coping skill?” he asked Picani when they first started working together.

“Hey,” he replied, “It’s more than some people have.”

Ever since he cut theater out of his life, he had felt a sort of emptiness. It was almost as if he had been holding on to something for years, and he finally let it go. He didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, he didn’t have time for a moment of emptiness, or of silence.

Which lead them to the current discussion. 

“Does your aunt always pick you up late?”

Logan and Patton had already left, leaving Virgil and Roman alone. Usually the group would be too emotionally exhausted to talk after a session, but for some reason, the silence seemed unacceptable today. 

“Uh, actually,” Virgil lifted his hand to rub his neck. “My aunt is right there.” He jerked his head in a general direction. Roman looked over and squinted. There was one woman sitting in a silver car. Even from a distance, Roman could see that she and Virgil had similar ice blue eyes. 

“Then why don’t you…?”

Virgil groaned, “Like, don’t make it a thing? I just like to make sure you guys get into your cars okay.”

“Wait, so you wait for us to get in our cars and drive off before you go home.”

“I said don’t make it a thing. You’re making it a thing.”

“I didn’t make it a thing, I think it just is a thing,” Roman tried to hide a smirk, but he couldn’t help it, “You secretly looooove us.”

Virgil groaned and tugged his hood down over his eyes. “Can you not?”

“I’m telling Patton.”

“I will leave you, I swear-”

“Noooo, don’t leave me alone,” Roman says.

“Yeah, where are your parents anyway?”

“I guess they’re busy,” Roman says, and there’s a little, anxious voice in his head that whispers _they forgot you_ which is stupid. And he knows it’s stupid. So why is it not going away. “They’ll be here soon.”

As if on cue, a loud horn blares from the opposite side of the parking lot. Virgil jumps (just Virgil, definitely not Roman, nope.) and turns his head. A tall, muscular guy gets out of a stupidly shiny red car and waves at Roman. He waves back, even though his eyebrows are furrowed.

“Who-?”

“That’s my oldest brother, Maximus,” Roman says, cutting him off. 

“That’s your brother?”

“One of them, yeah,” Roman shrugs, “Aw, guess I can no longer grace you with my presence.”

“Tragic,” Virgil deadpans, turning to head to his aunt’s car. 

Roman walks over to Max, wrinkling his eyebrow.

“What are you doing here?” 

“Good to see you too, baby bro.”

“Please don’t call me that,” there’s no bite to it. Max knows Roman doesn’t mind and Roman knows Max won’t stop calling him that. It’s been that way for as long as Roman was actually a baby. 

They both get into the car. Roman glances up to the window and sees Virgil pulling away. He sends him a quick wave, and Virgil throws him a little two finger salute back. 

“So you’re...making friends at your…” Max does a little circle with his hand.

“What is that?”

“You know...the…” Now he’s making a zig zag pattern. 

“You’re making no sense. If you’re trying to ask if I’m making friends at group therapy, yes.”

Max lets out a breath, as if he’s grateful that part of the conversation is over. 

“So what are you doing here?”

“You know, I do sometimes just want to check on you guys, you know.”

He really means _check on you_ but neither of them need to say it. 

Max is a personal trainer at a gym one town over, putting him basically forty five minutes away. The whole family knows this, because it was something their mother obsessed over when he was moving. People said she did _such_ a good job raising her sons, especially since they wanted to stay close.

So Max and the other oldest, Alexander, stayed close by and visited on the weekends. Key word being “weekends” and not picking Roman up during his therapy appointment. In fact, everyone in his family preferred to stay far, far away from his sessions. 

“So, did you draw the short straw this week?”

“What?”

“Well, I assume, since it’s a such a harrowing task, that everyone gets together and draws straws behind my back to see who’s stuck taking me to and from therapy. Did you lose this week?”

“That’s not fair, Roman,” Max says, in the same voice their father uses, “Of course it’s not fun. Do _you_ even like it?”

Roman, for once, keeps his mouth shut. He feels like this is a trick. Say yes and they’ll think he’s going because he enjoys it. Say no and it’s a perfect segue into “great! Guess you don’t have to go anymore!”

Max sighs, and steadies himself, as if he’s been dreading what comes up next. 

“You’re my baby brother, Ro. I just wanted to check and make sure you’re okay,” he pauses, “Are you okay?”

Roman turns to look at him, but Max keeps his eyes on the road. So, Roman summons his brightest smile, and just says “Of course!”

^

“You know, they’ve started yoga classes at the gym,” Max tells everyone at dinner, “It’s really enlightening, and we can take part for free.”

His dad scoffs and he frowns at him. “I mean it, Dad. It’s really cool.”

“Oh, are you opening your chakras?” Philip asks sarcastically, taking a bite of his steak.

“No, but I’m practicing mindfulness and being aware of the present-”

“You can be plenty aware of the present without yoga,” his dad says. Max sighs. He’s not winning this argument, and it’s not worth fighting, so he lets it drop. 

“Any interesting clients?” his mom asks, quick to change the subject.

“Well, I’ve gotten a few people in, just some people who started school recently and want to drop ten or so pounds,” he pauses, “But actually...there’s this girl who I’m training.”

“Yes?” his mom prompts.

“She’s recovering from an eating disorder.”

Suddenly, Roman is choking. His family turns to stare at him, which makes everything worse, so he tries to drown the tomato he just swallowed whole with water. After a while, it works. 

“You were saying?” he asks, voice strained.

“Huh? Oh, yeah-so this girl has been struggling with extreme dieting a binge eating and such her entire life, and a year or so ago it escalated into anorexia. She’s just now been allowed to start exercising again, and we have to really ease her into it.”

“Why?” his dad asks, “You know what they say-dive in head first, sink or swim.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just what you say,” Max jokes, “But her body has been neglected for so long that she really needs to build her strength back up. If we help her do that, then she can keep growing. If we just push her in, she won’t be strong enough to ‘swim’.” Max does air quotes around that last word. 

“Hm. Tragic how girls can get to that point,” his mom says, taking a bite of her steak.

“Always did find that strange,” his dad adds, “You really wanna know a girl, then take her on a first date to an all you can eat buffet. She gets some steak, she’s a keeper. She wants a salad, she ain’t worth it.”

Roman is suddenly very self conscious of his own little salad. But it doesn’t matter, because no one is looking at him.

“So,” Philip says, leaning back and looking at Max, “Anyway I could convince you to help me out on some workouts? I need to get ready for football. The coach has some workouts for us, but you know. They don’t really compare to one on one.”

“Sure, I can spare an hour or two.”

“You want to get in on that, Roman?” his dad asks, raising his eyebrows, “You don’t have theater anymore, you could always sign up for-”

“I don’t think I’m going to sign up for anything,” Roman says quickly, cutting him off, “But I would like to join, if you guys don’t mind.”

“Sure,” Philip says, shrugging. 

Roman turns to see Max staring at him. Not just staring at him, analyzing him, with narrowed eyes. 

“Uh, earth to Max?” Roman smiles, and he hopes it’s as dazzling as it always is. Max blinks and shakes his head. 

“Of course,” he says, but his eyes are still burning into Roman’s. 

^

When Roman can’t create, he destroys. 

He pounds away at the punching bag in his family’s home gym, until it shakes. 

“Baby bro,” and why is Max’s voice so gentle? So quiet? “You need to slow down.”

“Maybe,” Roman says, accenting every word with a punch, “You. Need. To. Catch. Up.”

Suddenly, the punching bag is moved back, out of his reach. 

“Hey!”

“Try some weights,” Max says. 

Roman doesn’t want to try weights. The thing with weights is you could clearly see the numbers. He knew he wouldn’t be on the level of Philip, who needed to stay in shape all summer for football, or Max who was a personal trainer for a living so all he would see was how he was less than, less than, less than. 

Instead, he got on the treadmill, and ran. He could hear Max through his headphones, lecturing him about a proper warmup and increasing slowly, and just to spite him, he pushed the button as high as he could stand it. 

He could not create, so he tried to outrun. Outrun the sickness, the darkness, the poison. But as his sneakers hit the ground, he knew he wasn’t really going anywhere.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: MAJOR WARNING for child abuse (skip the first section, start at "You good, Logan?"), referenced self-harm

The first time it happened, Virgil was seven. 

He came home from school to see the house was quiet. For a while, he didn’t even notice his father sitting in his armchair, staring at nothing, surrounded by beer cans and bottles. Virgil bit his lip. He didn’t know what they were, not really, but he knew that when his father drank them, he was even worse. 

Not that his dad was bad. He couldn’t be. It was just that sometimes his dad got angry. That’s what his mom told him.

Virgil slipped upstairs quietly, peeking into his parents’ room to look for his mom. But she wasn’t there. He furrowed his eyebrows. His house was small, there was no way he could have slipped past her. He shrugged to himself. Maybe she went to the store. 

Virgil went to his room without his dad noticing he even came home, which really was for the best. 

But as time went by, Virgil’s stomach started to growl, so loud he was almost afraid his dad would hear it all on his own. He finally got up from his desk and made his way back downstairs. 

His dad was still in the same armchair, except the pile of cans and bottles had grown larger.

“Dad?” Virgil asked as he came downstairs. “I’m hungry.”

“I am too,” his dad said, taking a swig from the bottle. 

“Should…,” Virgil paused. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. “Should mom be back soon?”

His dad laughed, which was a weird, slurred sound. 

“She won’t be back.”

“What?” 

“I said,” and now he’s yelling, “She won’t _fucking_ be back, are you deaf?”

Virgil stumbles back, and his back hits the banister of the staircase. His dad stands up and advances on him. 

“S-sorry, dad-”

“‘S-sorry,’ what you can’t even fucking speak now?”

“N-no,” Virgil swallows, “I’m sorry, I can talk fine.” Except it comes out a little too fast, and a little too shaky. 

His dad is staring down at him, and Virgil is pressing himself into the banister. But then his dad smiles, and he can breathe again. 

Sometimes his dad is mean. Virgil isn’t allowed to call him that, or tell anyone else that, but in his own mind, he knows it’s true. But sometimes his dad takes him into the backyard and throws him the ball, and they laugh. Sometimes he lets Virgil curl up next to him while they’re watching a movie, and he feels safe. 

“She’s gone,” his dad says, and he’s smiling but there are big tears falling down his face, and this is a reaction he’s never had and suddenly Virgil feels like he’s failing a test he didn’t know he was taking. 

“Who?”

“Your fucking whore of a mother, that’s who,” his dad all but spits, “She left. She left me, and she left _you._ ”

Virgil doesn’t say anything, half because he doesn’t know what to say and half because everytime he speaks he makes it worse. 

His dad sneers down at him. 

“You need to respond when your elders are talking to you, you little dipshit.”

“I-I,” Virgil doesn’t know what to say and he kinda feels like he’s drowning, “Why would she do that?”

And his dad is laughing again, but it doesn’t sound like laughter and it’s almost as scary as when he and Virgil’s mom yell at each other. 

“I guess because of you,” he says, and the words sting even though Virgil isn’t sure they’re true. 

“I-I’m sorry.”

His dad stares at him. 

And then Virgil’s head snaps to the side, and his cheek is throbbing. He’s so surprised that his knees buckle and it’s only then that he realized his dad slapped him. He looks up, and his dad doesn’t even look sorry, his face is set and the tears are gone and Virgil needs to run. 

He takes off up the stairs, and slams his door shut, holding onto the knob. He’s not allowed to have a lock, so he just puts all his strength into holding the door shut. He knows, deep down, that his dad is stronger and if he wants to get in, he will. Thankfully, his dad seems satisfied and he doesn’t even hear his footsteps coming up the stairs. 

There’s a rock in his stomach when he goes to bed that night, and it almost makes him feel full.

^

“You good, Logan?”

Logan has been spacing out all class and Virgil is worried. He thought everything was good this week, did something-

“Virgil, I can practically see your panic. Breathe. I am fine, simply tired,” As the rest of their class leaves the room, he pulls out a binder and opens to the first page. “I saw Dr. Sanders yesterday, and it was...quite a catch up. We made a crisis plan.”

“A crisis plan?”

“I’m not very fond of the name, it seems a little...extra, but it is a list of things I need to do if I get the urge to skip a meal.”

“Is one of those things to eat?” Virgil asks. 

“You would think. But Dr. Sanders explained that everything we came up with had a point in trying to redirect my feelings so the urge would pass naturally.”

Virgil looks down at the binder and has to fight a smile. “Logan. Is it laminated?”

“Of course, it’s important. It can’t get wrinkled. The paper in the back is so I can track the success of each skill.” He goes a bit quieter, 

“Heya!” Patton says brightly as he walks in, lunch in hand. Roman is right behind him.

“Hey guys,” Virgil says. Roman narrows his eyes. 

“Did we interrupt serious talk time?”

“No, just wrapping up on what happened last week,” Logan says, “And also...Dr. Sanders says I need to reach out if I get an urge to skip again…” 

“That’s a good idea,” Patton says, trying to encourage him. 

Logan sighs, “I suppose.” Then he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone and holds it out to the other three. They pass it around, plugging in numbers and then moving their desks into their makeshift table. 

“So the meeting went good?” Patton asks. 

“Define ‘good’,” Logan says, “It was...productive. As I was telling Virgil, we made a crisis plan, and while I’m not exactly...good with feelings, we did address them in a satisfying manner.”

“I’d call that good!” Patton says, brightly, before taking a bite of the chicken nugget the school provided. He pointedly does not look at it. Eating is already hard, the last thing he needs is to be reminded of how bad the food looks. 

“I suppose,” Logan says, thoughtfully, “You know, I really do appreciate Dr. Sanders. He’s much better than some of my previous therapists.”

“Oh, I’m sure they all try their best,” Patton says, automatically. Then he pauses, “But I’ve been better since I started going to him, too.” 

“Hey! Give Dr. Picani some credit!”

“Oh, yeah, him too,” Patton rushes to say, but it’s too late. Roman is ready to monologue. 

“I was fortunate enough to be put with Dr. Picani since the first day, and since the first day he’s tried his hardest to brighten a dimming star, and I’d say he’s had at least a bit of success, I’m sure with a little hard work, I’ll be dazzling once more.”

“Hard work?” Virgil asks. 

“Well, sure,” Mrs. Spencer speaks up. Virgil jumps. Sometimes he almost forgets she’s back there. She lets them socialize as if they were in the cafeteria, and his back is to her. “Counseling is only beneficial if the counselor knows what they’re helping you with. But you guys seem very dedicated, with the individual therapy and the groups.” And her gaze shifts to Virgil, “But you would know about that, right?”

“Well, sure!” Patton says. Roman and Logan nod as well, and Virgil forces his head up and down. And when they turn back around, Mrs. Spencer frowns because she notices. She notices that Virgil is quieter than the others, that he isn’t as open, and she’s worried that he’s not going to heal like the others because he’s holding himself back. Really, all Dot wants is to take care of her students. 

 

^

“Alright,” Roman said, walking next to Virgil as they left lunch, “What’s up?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Virgil says, “And where are you going, isn’t your class the other way?”

“It’s choir, I think they’ll be okay if I’m late.”

“Well, I won’t be, so no serious talk, sorry.”

“C’moooooon,” Roman whines, “I saw you shrink, like, two sizes when Mrs. Spencer was talking. And you didn’t talk about Dr. Picani. What’s going on? Do you not like Picani?”

“It’s not that-he’s fine-” Virgil shakes his head, “I can’t get into it, I have to get to class.”

“What class are you even going to?” Roman looks around, “Are you going to gym?”

Virgil keeps his mouth shut. 

“Do they even let you participate?”

“...no.”

“Then come on, we can skip.”

“For fuck’s sake Roman, it’s not that big of a deal,” Virgil rolls his eyes, “It’s just...maybe I have not been as honest with Emile as I should be.”

“So? You can fix that.”

“I can. I don’t necessarily _want_ to.”

“You know what Dr. Picani told me once?”

“What?”

“Sometimes, to get the full benefits of recovery, we need to do something, whether we like it or not. I don’t know what you’re not telling him, but I have a feeling maybe you should.”

“Look,” Virgil turns on him, “I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to do the open and honest thing and I’m trying to fully commit but I-just,” he sighs, “What happens if I tell him? What if something goes wrong?”

“Goes wrong?” Roman asks, “I mean, there’s not much he can do. He’s not even allowed to discuss it outside of the session.” he pauses, “Unless you’re like cutting yourself or something.” 

Virgil forgets to walk for a second, and Roman’s hand shoots out to steady him.

“Nope, no, definitely not that,” Virgil is rushing out, “Why would you think that?”

“It’s in the contract, your therapist can’t report anything unless you’re a threat to yourself or others,” Roman’s eyes narrow, “Why-?”

The bell rings. 

“Oh shit,” Virgil says, “I gotta go, Princey, don’t break any windows with that voice of yours-”

Roman grabs his elbow, not letting him slip away. He pauses, for a second, not quite sure what to say.

“I think you should talk to Dr. Picani,” Roman says, “And you know, it’s okay to talk to us.”

“I know,” Virgil says, but he brushes it off a little too quickly. 

“No,” Virgil glances up to look Roman in the eyes, and he’s shocked by how intense he looks, “I mean it. You can talk to us. About anything.”

There’s a bit of silence. 

“Got it,” Virgil says, but this time, just maybe, he actually does.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: referenced child abuse

“Until next time, take it easy guys.”

The four boys nod and start to exit the room, slowly. Thomas thinks about calling after Virgil, to hold him back, but he doesn’t think that’s necessary right now. Maybe next time, after he talks to Picani. Speaking of which, he needs to get to his office to wait for his colleague.

When he heads down the hallway, he finds the therapist already at his door. Emile sends him a smile. 

“I was just about to knock, perfect timing!”

Thomas forces a smile, though his mind is still on this last session. 

“What’s wrong?”

Thomas laughs as he unlocks his office. “You’re really good at this therapist thing.”

“That, and you practically wear your heart on your sleeve.”

They both walk into the office and take their seats, the door swinging shut behind them. Thomas pulls up the documents they have to fill out for their superiors on his computer as Emile opens his brown notebook. 

“So?” Emile prompts.

“I’m just worried about Virgil. He was practically silent this session, much quieter than usual. What was he like during your last session?”

“Noticeably quieter,” he says, without even checking his notes, “And twice as fidgety. We talked in circles a bit, which is strange, he hasn’t done that since the beginning. But when I asked him if he had any final questions or concerns, he finally confessed that there was something he needed to tell me, he just couldn’t this time. So tomorrow I’m either getting more information or we’re taking a different step.”

Thomas let out a breath. “That’s good though, at least we know what’s going on. Any updates on Roman?”

“The more I hear about his family, the more it makes me uneasy. He has mentioned that one of his brothers has been coming around more often, which I think is an attempt at support, but this brother encourages exercising, so it’s a bit of a double-edged sword.”

“So Roman’s still exercising?”

“He says his brother won’t let him overexercise, but-and I don’t mean to make judgments here-I can’t guarantee any of his family members have a healthy state of mind when it comes to exercising.”

Thomas nods, typing the information into the computer. 

“What about Logan and Patton?”

“Logan seems to be using the distress tolerance skills effectively. He hasn’t skipped therapy, and he’s gotten better at recognizing when he needs to eat, and that he needs to eat more.”

“That’s great!”

“I’m worried, though, that he may try to convince himself that he never suffered and therefore doesn’t need the skills, similar to the last incident.”

“Are there any skills or anything that we can do to prevent that?”

“I’m not sure. I told him in the original session, when we made the crisis plan, that he could never abuse this resource, even if he, in theory, didn’t have an eating disorder, and that if I thought he was stable enough to quit therapy altogether, I would let him know.”

“That’s a good place to start. Some preventative measures. We can think about other in the future, we don’t want to jump to conclusions.”

“True,” Thomas finishes typing and then leans back in his chair with a sigh, “As for Patton…”

Dr. Picani shoots him a sympathetic smile. “Patton still isn’t committing.”

“He says he’ll do anything to get better, but he won’t even admit that he’s still binging or purging.”

“Have you asked him that directly?”

“Everytime he comes in,” Thomas drags his hands down his face. “I don’t know how to help him if he won’t be open with me. But I’ve asked if he wants to switch, and he looked hurt, like I was the one who didn’t want him.”

“I don’t think it’s you,” Dr. Picani says, “I think Patton has had this disorder for a long time. To the point where he may not be able to imagine a world where he doesn’t have one.”

Thomas frowns. 

“Or maybe we’re wrong and he’s a little shit who doesn’t want to work,” Emile says, trying to make his colleague smile, “But either way, we may want to start looking at this from another angle.”

^

“Hey, Hot Topic, are you even listening to me?”

Virgil blinks, bringing himself back to reality. Well, as much as he can. He’s felt a little...disconnected recently. 

“Sorry.”

“What’s up?” Roman asks, frowning. 

“Nothi-”

“Let’s try again. What’s wrong?”

Virgil sighs. “You know how a week ago you told me I should be more open with Picani?”

Patton and Logan exchange looks. 

“Yes…?” Roman says. 

“Well, I’m going to. And I’m not exactly looking forward to it.”

“Is the thing you’re telling him new information?”

“Yes. Maybe not for him, maybe he put it together, I don’t know,” Virgil rubs his hands down his face. “God, I hate this.”

“But it’s going to be so much better!” Roman says. 

“How do you know?” Virgil says, a little harsher than he means to, “How do you know it won’t bite me in the ass? How do you know it won’t-?” Virgil snaps his mouth shut before he says too much. 

There isn’t really a “too much” anymore. He can’t say too much and have someone overhear and call CPS. He can’t say the wrong thing and get a black eye because of it. But the instinct is woven into him by now.

“Virge,” Patton says, quietly. Virgil turns to look at him, “Dr. Sanders and Dr. Picani are on our team. Letting them know how to best fight for you isn’t going to bite you. It’s going to help you, no matter what it is.”

Virgil takes a deep breath. His anxiety brain is still pressing, still continuing to shout, _but how do you KNOW?_

“Virgil. Do you find us at least a bit trustworthy?” Logan asks. 

Virgil pauses. Trust is a lot, but a bit trustworthy seems safe. And, okay, also true.

“Yes.”

“So could you trust us enough to believe we’re leading you to something positive?”

_But what if they’re WRONG?_ Virgil’s brain screamed, but suddenly, some small part of him responded.

_What if they’re not?_

^

“Is there something on your mind, Virgil?”

“Nope,” Virgil says, instinctively, “Why do you ask?”

Dr. Picani looks pointedly at his hands, where he is currently death gripping a Squishable. Virgil lets go automatically. “No reason.”

Instead of gripping it again, Virgil rubs a thumb over its fur. He never really had stuffed animals growing up, but this thing was...cute. 

“Say there was something I wanted to talk about…,”

There’s no change in Picani. No leaning forward, no whipping out the notebook, no sitting at attention. He just looks up at Virgil. “Hypothetically?”

“Yes. Let’s say I got through, like, half the thing and didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Could we do that?”

“We can talk about anything you want, Virge, however you want.”

“And if I told you, you would keep it a secret?”

“Well, if you’re a danger to yourself or others-”

“I read the contract, Emile,” Virgil cuts him off, “I mean...you wouldn’t bring it up in group.”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t want you to,” Virgil says, and he feels his hand close around the stuffed toy again. Emile leans over to the little table and picks up the fidget cube. He holds it out to Virgil, who lets go of his current fidget for this new one. “Thanks.”

The only sound for a while is the rapid clicking from the buttons on the fidget cube, before Virgil finally takes a breath and forces it out.

“My dad used to hit me. He did for a while.”

There’s a silence, and there’s a panic inside Virgil rising. He messed up. Oh God he fucked up so bad what happens when-

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Virgil. Now, before we continue, I want you to take a deep breath.”

Virgil takes a shallow one. 

“Try again,” Dr. Picani takes a deep breath in through his nose, and lets it out slowly through his mouth. Virgil does the same. “Now I want you to remember. You’re safe in here. Nothing leaves these walls unless you want them to. You’re in control here.”

“I’m in control?”

“Yes,” Dr. Picani says, “So, may I ask a question?”

“I mean, sure.”

“Is that why you came to live with your aunt?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says, “It happened...sorta fast.”

“What did?”

“You know...getting taken away. Being placed with her. One night I had an issue with my dad, the next I’m getting interrogated, the next I’m at my aunt’s.”

“That sounds like it would be hard.”

“It...was.”

“Did you see your dad after the “issue,” as you call it?”

Virgil opens his mouth, then pauses, thinking it over. 

“No, I guess not. Not really. I ran up to my room, I hid, I snuck out to go to school, I came home and he said-” he shakes his head, “Then we were separated. And-and-”

“Deep breaths, Virgil.”

“I don’t-we can’t talk about that, not now, not yet.”

“That’s fine, Virgil. Is there anything else you want to share?”

“N-no,” There’s a voice, in the back of his head, that yells, _what, you can’t even fucking speak now?_

“Virgil, can you look at me?”

Virgil tears his eyes away from the cube and looks at Emile. 

“I’m so, so proud of you, Virgil. That’s a lot to admit. I’m so glad you trusted me enough to tell me that.” Emile takes another deep breath, encouraging Virgil to do the same. He does.

“Now, our session is almost over, but I need to ask you one more important question.”

“Sure,” Virgil says, even though he’s a little more cautious this time. 

Dr. Picani stands and holds out his arms. “Can I have a hug?”

Virgil stares at him. He doesn’t say anything, just stands there patiently. Eventually, Virgil stands and lets himself be hugged.

“Thank you!” his therapist chirps, going to the door to let him out. Virgil smirks at him, but starts walking out, before pausing. 

He’s just now realizing that Emile hasn’t used his handy dandy notebook this entire session. He was focused entirely on Virgil. That thought suddenly feels like too much, and he bolts for the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO I AM BACK FROM THE DEAD


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TWs for this chapter? I think? Don't hesitate to let me know if there is and I missed it!

Roman rubbed his temple. The last of his classmates were emptying out, and he could hear the music drifting from the theater. You would think after a month he would be used to not going to rehearsal, but you would be wrong. 

_“Nooooo one-”_

“No!” he could hear his director shout, bringing the piano notes to a halt. “You have to get your voice lower-”

Okay, maybe he didn’t miss _everything_ about it. He just mainly missed being a part of something. And having something to distract from his thoughts. Like right now. He had to go to therapy and all he could think about was everything that had went wrong in the past week, and his mind was just not giving him a break. It would’ve been great to just belt something out now. 

He had tried, once, to just sing by himself, but his dad had quickly shut that down. He said Roman was making too much noise, and when he had tried to explain what he was doing, his dad told them to go down to their home gym and work it off there. Roman knew technically that he wasn’t supposed to be exercising unsupervised, but what else could he do?

Roman slammed his locker shut and made his way out to the parking lot. 

Instead of seeing his parents’ car, he saw Max’s, which was becoming a more common occurrence. When Max saw him approaching he tossed his keys. Roman reached his hands up to catch it but it slipped through his fingers. Max laughed. 

“I don’t know why Dad wants you to go back to football, you suck,” he walked over to the passenger side, completely missing the look Roman gave him. 

“What are you doing?” Roman asked, “I can’t drive your car.”

“Sure you can. You have your permit, I’m 23, get in.”

“But Mom and Dad have only taken me out once.”

“So? They don’t have time. I do.” With that, Max slides into the passenger seat and shuts the door. 

Roman looks down at the keys and tries to breathe. He walks over to the front door and gets in. 

“Breathe, baby bro. It’s just a car.”

“This car probably costs more than my life.”

“I wouldn’t say _that,_ ” Max laughs, “It’ll be fine. It’s a straight shot down the highway. The only thing you need to worry about is the speed limit.” Max watches as Roman pulls out of the parking lot. “And I have a feeling you’ll be too slow.”

“I’m not denying that.”

“So,” Max says, leaning back, “How was school?”

Roman groans without thinking. Max raises his eyebrows. 

“The Theatre used to be, like, this safe haven, this escape for me, now it’s the worst part of my day!” Roman bursts out, “Everyone in my class is in the musical except for me! They sing the songs constantly, the only thing they talk about is what happened in rehearsal the day before! And I-” _I’m already an outsider at home, I can’t be one there, too._ “It’s just annoying.”

“Hate to break it to you, but theater kids are annoying.” Roman frowns and Max backtracks, “It’s just a joke, Ro, sorry. But really, that does suck.” 

“I don’t even know why I didn’t do it, it was stupid.”

“Then why did you drop it?”

“My...doctor...thought it would be good for me to take some time off and focus on my health.”

Max goes silent for a moment before saying, “Oh.”

“Oh? What do you mean ‘oh’?”

“I mean oh, that’s probably a good idea, then.”

“I literally just said it was a stupid idea.”

“But if your doctor thinks it’s a good idea shouldn’t you listen to him?”

“I guess,” Roman says, “It’s just-” he takes a deep breath. He knows he can’t say too much, “I wish I could just do normal things and be...normal.”

“Are you feeling okay? I’ve never heard you say that before,” Silence falls, and Max glances over at Roman, who is staring out the window. “Oh. You’re serious.”

“Of course I am!” Roman says, “You think I don’t know how much of a disappointment I am? Of course I want to be the sports star like every Prince before me. But I’m not. And lately, I can’t even act like a normal person.” Roman shakes his head. “Whatever, sorry for going off like that. It’s nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing, it’s just,” Max’s head falls back, “I am awful at this, but let me try. Eventually, you will be normal, you’re going to a doctor to make you normal-nope, that came out completely wrong.” Max winces, “Okay, um, you’re going to someone who’s going to make you your, uh, fabulous self again. And that’s good. Even if now it just feels like a long, agonizing process, that goal is within reach and you will get there, you just need a little help.”

“It’s not exactly little-”

“I _know,_ ” Max winces again, “I know that, Roman. I know that you’re hiding something-”

“What? I-”

“No, don’t. Don’t even bother denying it. A teacher was worried enough about you that they sent you to guidance counselor, and the guidance counselor was so concerned they got an outside therapy practice involved, and now you’ve been there for five months? And if you don’t want to tell us, that’s fine, you don’t have to. But I can’t keep pretending to believe you when you say you’re fine, you’re clearly not.”

Roman’s eyes immediately get misty at that, and he rubs his eyes. 

“Are you crying?”

“If we could not address it, that’d be great,” Roman says, finally turning into Foster’s. Suddenly everything feels a little too real, and he needs to get out of this car. 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. That was...a little intense. I just…”

“We can talk after,” Roman says, pulling into a parking space, “I’m going to be late.” Technically, he’s fifteen minutes early, but he needs Max to leave.

“Okay, we’ll-” Roman shuts the door before Max can continue talking. 

Only after his little brother disappears into the building does he let his head fall against the dash once, twice, three times. God, he had to get better at this. 

^

“I just had the strangest conversation with my brother,” Roman says, sitting in his usual seat next to Patton. “Like I think it was a heart to heart but it also felt like an interrogation.”

“Aww, that’s nice of him! At least he tried?” Patton says.

“If he even attempted a heart to heart, he gets an A for effort. That shit’s hard,” Virgil says, “What was it about?”

“Ugh,” Roman groans, “Can’t we wait until Picani gets here before we start having serious talk time?”

“Don’t have to wait long, then!” Picani says, sticking his head in. “What are we having serious talk time about?”

“My brother,” Roman sighs, knowing he’s not getting around this now, “We had this weird conversation, I told him I wanted to be normal, and snowballed into this whole thing about me coming here and how he knows I’m hiding something. It was just really weird.”

“Hiding something?” Patton asks.

“I may not have told my family about my eating disorder,” Roman admits, “Not because I don’t trust them! I just don’t want to stress them out or anything.”

“Are you sure it’s really about stressing them out?” Dr. Picani asks.

“Of course, what else would it be?”

“Are you afraid of disappointing them, perhaps? Is that why you suddenly feel the need to be ‘normal,’ as you put it?”

“I want to be normal because I failed at greatness. I tried to be brilliant and bold, but I ended up being annoying and overdramatic. I’m the joke of the family, the outcast of the theatre department, who knows what else I could fail at?”

“So you want to give up instead?” Logan asks. 

“Not give up, just...aim lower,” Roman says, his voice quieter than usual. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Well, yes, in a sense,” Dr. Picani says. “There’s something wrong in the sense that normal doesn’t exist, and aiming for what could be considered ‘normal’ by others means your dictating your life on what other people think, which is not what we want for you.”

“I just want to eat!” Roman snaps. “Sorry, I just...it’s been a long week.”

“We’ll discuss this more in our individual, Roman,” Emile says, gently, “But we have something else to accomplish today, something I think will also help you. We need to set some more goals for you guys.”

“Like what?” Patton asks, his voice a little too chipper.

“Well, like last time, that’s mainly up to you guys,” Dr. Picani says, “What do you think would be a good stepping stone? Though, I will say this, Roman, I think it would be a good idea to open up to Max a little bit more this time around.”

“Open up? How much?” Roman asks.

“As much as you want. Remember, you guys are in control here.”

“I...guess I could do that,” he replies, tentatively. 

“Good! What about the rest of you?”

There’s a bit of silence before Virgil sighs. 

“If Roman can open up to his brother, I guess I can open up to my aunt.”

“Ooh, that’s a great idea!” Emile says, making a note of it.

“Yeah, well, she’s been trying. I might as well meet her halfway.”

“I’m glad you see it that way, Virgil.”

“I’ve noticed recently that there are very few foods I eat,” Logan speaks up, “I think the natural way to progress would be to expand that. So...maybe some fruits?”

“Okay, good step,” his therapist says.

Four heads turn to Patton, who is focusing on the ground. 

“I...don’t know.”

“That’s okay!” Dr. Picani says, “We can think of one. Personally, based on what Dr. Sanders has told me, I think you should try eating something for breakfast.”

That makes Patton look up. “You want me to eat more?”

“If this is up for discussion,” Virgil says, “I think he should work on being nicer to himself.”  
“I’m nice everybody, don’t worry about that!” Patton says, trying to blow off that idea before anyone can say it’s a good one. 

“We literally all know that’s a lie,” Logan says. Patton’s smile falls.

“Virgil’s got a point,” Emile says. “A very good one, in fact. Have you heard of affirmations?”

“Yes.”

“Has Dr. Sanders given them to you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you actually recite them out loud, into a mirror?”

“Well, no, not like that, just...to myself…”

“Ah, but then they don’t work as well. That settles it! I want you to come up with a positive affirmation with Dr. Sanders and recite it at least five times before next week.”

“I can do that,” Patton says, voice tight. He clears it, then tries again, “I can do that.”

“Great!” their therapist says, “Then I’ll see you all back next week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Says I'm back from the dead  
> Me: Immediately disappears for twice as long  
> alkjdsf;alkj I am The Worst I'm sorry

**Author's Note:**

> So, let me just say up front that I take mental health very seriously, having been through the system myself and also studying Psychology. There will always be clear warnings in the beginning of chapters, and the tags will updated as I go, and if there's ever something that isn't labelled properly, don't hesitate to let me know!
> 
> Besides that, feedback is always appreciated!


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